^<?Se  UBRARY 


.v^ 


NO  SENSE  LIKE  COMMON 
SENSE; 


SOME  PASSAGES  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  CHARLES 
jvIIDDLETON,  ESQ.    , 


BY  MARY  HOWITT. 

»VTKOa  Oy  "8TR1VK  AND  THRIVE  ;"    "  HOPK  OK,  HOPK  BrBR;"  "  ^OVtim 
ANO  RSAPIWO,"  ttCt'ttC 


NEW-YORK : 
D.    APPLETON    &    COMPANY, 

443    &    445   BEOADWAY. 
1863. 


CONTj^JNTS. 

I.  "MlDDLKTON  AND  THE  MiDDLETONS    .  •     .      1 

II.  The  Squire's  Soj«         .         .          ,          •  ..17 

III.  The  Justice's  Clerk        .          .         .  ,         ,       37 

IV.  The  Election  of  Stockington      .         .  .     .       52 
V.  A  Duel  and  a  Voyage  to  America   .  .         ,67 

VI.  The  Justice's  Clerk  AGAIN           .          .  ,     .        84 

VII.  The  Lyndens  and  a  Wedding  .          .  .          .93 

VIII.  Small  Troubles,  AND  Great  Changes  .  .     .     103 

IX.  Utopia  Discovered 124 

X.  Adventures  in  a  German  Lodging-house  .     .     130 

XI.  The  Pickets  AND  THE  Oakleys.         .  .         .139 

XII.   Old  England  for  Evkh  ',      ».         •         •  •     •     IM 


NO  SENSE   LIKE  COMMON-SENSE, 


CHAPTER  I. 

MIDDLETON    AND    THE    BlIDDLETONS. 

One  of  the  oldest  families  of  Derbyshire  is  that 
of  the  Middletons.  They  seem  even  to  be  of  Saxon 
origin,  and  to  derive  their  name  from  their  resi- 
dence at  certain  places  called  Mitteltoun,  or  Middle- 
Town,  probably  because  they  originally  lay  equi- 
distant between  other  well-known  towns  or  villages. 
Stoney  Middleton,  Middleton  Dale,  and  other  places, 
chiefly  lying  in  the  Peak,  still  mark  where  branches  of 
this  ancient  family  once  were  located ;  and  various  of 
their  descendants  still  also  are  numbered  amongst  the 
gentry  of  the  county.  The  learned  and  pious  Bishop 
Middleton  was  a  descendant  of  one  of  these  branches, 
and  the  individual  who  will  figure  in  these  pages  is 
the  lineal  descendant  of  another.  That  branch  had 
for  ages  possessed  large  estates  both  in  Derbyshire 
and  Nottinghamshire,  which  the  jolly  lives  of  his 
ancestors  from  generation  to  generation  had  managed 
considerably  to  diminish.  The  father,  however,  of 
Charles  Middleton,  our  hero,  liad  a  handsome  estate 
1 


a  MIDDLETON    AND 

in  lands  and  mines,  which  it  was  his  business  and 
amusement  to  superintend.  He  was  a  person  of 
great  natural  abilities,  though  they  had  never  been 
much  cultivated  or  called  forth  by  education ;  for 
the  Middletons  living  from  age  to  age  in  the  country, 
and  mixing  only  with  the  neighbouring  gentry,  or 
the  people  of  the  village,  or  thoscemployed  on  their 
land  or  in  their  mines,  none  of  whom  were  ever  over- 
done with  knowledge,  never  felt  the  necessity  of  great 
intellectual  acquisition  or  great  accomplishments. 
They  knew  all  the  mysteries  of  hunting  and  shooting, 
fishing  and  farming,  and  that  was  enough  for  them. 

Such  of  them  as  belonged  to  the  magisterial  bench — 
and  many  of  them  in  succession  had  done  so — sate 
there  witli  good  jolly  sides  clothed  in  good  broad- 
cloth, and  jolly  faces  clothed  in  much  fat  and  rud- 
diness, but  all  with  due  gravity.  They  had  always 
a  clerk,  some  poor  fellow  who  had  been  brought  up 
to  the  law,  })ut  had  either  not  had  the  ability  or  the 
interest  to  enable  him  to  climb  up  among  the 
golden  mountains  to  which  the  highways  of  the  law 
lead,  and  had,  therefore,  taken  refuge  under  the 
patronage  of  the  village  magistrate,  and  thus  grown 
into  a  very  important  personage.  In  this  person  the 
worthy  guardian  of  the  rural  peace  had  always  an 
oracle  to  appeal  to,  which  saved  him  the  trouble  of 
having  to  dip  deep  into  the  pages  of  Bum's  Justice ; 
and  what  more  did  he  need?  He  was  willing  that 
the  clerk  should  be  the  depository  of  all  the  legal 
knowledge  that  was  wanted,  and  all  the  fees  which 


THE    MIDDLETONS.  3 

flowed  in  for  v/arrants  and  summonses,  so  that  he  had 
the  honour  of  being  one  of  the  quorum  ;  and  he  was 
equally  willing  that  the  parson  should  be  held  to  be  the 
monopoliser  of  all  the  other  learning  in  the  parish. 

Thus  it  had  gone  on  for  centuries,  and  thus  it 
Btill  went  on  in  the  days  of  Charles  Middleton's 
youth.  Duly  every  Monday  morning  he  saw  his 
father  issue  forth  at  ten  o'clock,  and  proceed  to  the 
little  white  and  very  neat  cottage  on  the  green  of 
his  native  village  of  jNIiddleton,  which  had  been 
ever  known  to  the  fathers  and  grandfathers  of  the 
hamlet  and  country  round  as  the  justice-room. 
There  were  those  still  living  who  could  remember 
it  as  an  old  red-brick  cottage  covered  with  red  pan- 
tiles, standing  under  a  huge  elm  on  the  open  green, 
and  having  a  very  decayed  and  weather-beaten  ap- 
pearance. A  rude  bench,  ran  along  its  front,  and 
another  went  all  round  the  giant  bole  of  the  old 
elm,  on  which  the  country-people  who  came  there 
every  week  for  "justice"  used  to  seat  themselves  till 
the  magistrates,  Mr.  Middleton  and  another  gentle- 
man of  the  neighbourhood,  proceeded  to  business. 

There  was  no  fence  of  any  kind  to  keep  off  the 
cattle  wliich  ranged  the  green,  and  those,  in  hot  and 
bad  weather,  used  to  seek  satisfaction  there  as  much 
as  the  countr^'-people  themselves,  and  often  had  trod 
up  the  ground  round  it  in  rainy  seasons  till  it  was 
difficult  of  approach.  Ducks,  too,  had  often  been 
Been  paddling  in  a  pool  which  after  a  thunder-storm 
had  collected  before  the  very  door,  when  the  old 


4  MIDDLETON    AND 

clerk  came  to  open  it  in  preparation  for  their  wor- 
ships. Swine  and  sheep  were  as  often  to  be  seen 
stretched  along,  in  luxurious  contempt  of  all  magis- 
terial reverence,  under  the  bench  by  the  wall  in  hot 
weather,  or  panting  in  groups  at  the  shady  end  of 
the  building.  Great  cows  and  lazy-looking  bullocks 
stood  winking  and  lazily  flapping  their  sides  with 
their  tails  as  they  chewed  their  cuds  under  the  tree 
and  round  the  justice-room ;  and  asses  had  rubbed 
their  coarse  sides  so  assiduously  against  its  corner, 
that  the  very  bricks  were  become  rounded  and  po- 
lished by  this  practice.  It  was,  besides  all  this,  a 
great  play  resort  of  all  the  village  lads.  They 
bounded  their  balls  against  its  gable  with  as  much 
indifference  as  if  no  warrant  had  ever  issued  thence, 
condemning  thief  or  murderer  to  durance  in  Derby 
jail  till  tried  by  due  course  of  law.  They  had  cut 
and  carved  its  very  door  wdth  their  names,  till  it  had 
a  most  mean  and  paintless  appearance,  and  were  even 
guilty  of  putting  little  pebbles  in  the  key-hole,  to 
the  no  small  annoyance  of  the  old  clerk  when  he 
came  to  the  justice-room,  and  their  equal  amuse- 
ment, as  they  watched  his  dilemma  from  behind  the 
great  elm,  and  from  the  very  concealment  of  the 
stocks  themselves. 

Within  a  few  years,  however — that  is,  since  the 
present  justice's  clerk,  who  had  succeeded  on  the 
decease  of  the  old  one,  had  come — the  place  had 
undergone  a  thorough  metamorphosis.  This  clerk 
was  a  young  man  of  a  light  make,  who  dressed  in  a 


THE    MrDDLETONS.  9 

neat  suit  of  black,  and,  as  the  people  of  the  village 
said,  walked  with  a  little  stick,  and  had  a  little  dog, 
just  like  a  gentleman.  He  was  in  fact  the  son  of  an 
old  collier  of  a  place  some  fourteen  miles  distant. 
wlio  had  given  him  a  better  education  than  usually 
falls  to  the  lot  of  village  boys,  and  got  him,  through 
Mr.  Middleton's  influence,  into  the  ofhc-^  of  a  lawyer 
in  Derby,  with  an  eye  to  this  very  situation. 

The  old  clerk  had  dropped  off,  and  Seth  Wag-, 
staff  had  joyfully  entered  on  the  office,  which  was 
the  highest  mark  of  his  ambition.  He  could  con- 
ceive nothing  more  gratifying  than  to  be  looked  up 
to  as  the  justice's  clerk  of  Middleton  by  the  simple 
people  of  the  whole  country  round  ;  to  be  a  welcomo 
guest  at  the  farmers'  houses  ;  and  to  be  almost  on  a 
par  with  the  clergyman  himself.  And  in  truth  he 
had  well  qualified  himself  for  his  post ;  he  had 
diligently  studied  th<f  practice  in  his  master's  office, 
and  was  not  only  competent  to  advise  the  magistrates 
in  all  that  would  come  before  them,  but  also  could 
lay  down  the  law  in  all  cases  which  were  agitated  in 
the  neighbourhood,  or  appeared  in  the  newspaper,  in 
such  a  manner  as  inspired  even  his  best  informed 
hearers  with  great  respect.  Mr.  Seth  Wagstaff  was 
soon  set  down  as  an  uncommonly  "long-headed 
fellow,"  and  found  a  profitable  business,  independent 
of  his  clerkship,  in  making  wills,  and  writing  letters, 
&c.,  for  his  neighbours. 

What  raised  him  in  general  respect  was,  that  ha 
was  of  a  particularly  quiet   and   sober  disposition. 


9  MIDDLETOX    AND 

fie  was  never  seen  to  enter  the  village  ale-house, 
except  when  some  parish  meeting  was  held  there.  01 
as  treasurer  of  the  village  sick-club.  He  had  mar- 
ried a  very  pretty  young  woman,  the  daughter  of  a 
small  farmer  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  entered  on 
the  house  occupied  by  the  former  clerk,  but  belong- 
ing to  Mr.  Middleton,  just  on  the  edge  of  the  green 
£Uid  with  its  little  garden-gate  just  opposite  to  the 
justice-room.  This  house  stood  in  the  middle  of  a 
pretty  large  garden ;  and  both  house  and  garden, 
under  Mr.  Wagstaff 's  hands,  had  assumed  an  air  of 
wonderful  neatness.  He  had  a  particular  fondness 
for  gardening,  and  for  all  that  contributed  to  the 
embellishment  of  a  countr^'-house.  He  trained  and 
trimmed  the  great  pear  and  plum  trees  that  clothed 
the  walls  of  his  house,  and  had  been  suffered  by  his 
predecessor  to  run  almost  wild,  into  the  neatest  and 
most  fruitful  order.  He  soon  raised  a  Iktle  trellissed 
porch  over  his  door,  which  he  made  quite  beautiful 
with  monthly  roses  and  creepers.  He  found  nooks 
and  pleasant  corners  for  seats  and  arbours,  and  was 
early  and  late  busy  knocking  together  rustic  chairs 
and  seats  out  of  crooked  boughs,  and  painting  and 
placing  them  in  the  best  situations.  He  had  con- 
trived to  dam  up  a  little  stream  at  the  bottom  of  his 
garden  into  a  lovely  little  pond,  with  its  plug  to  let 
off  the  water  when  necessary,  and  had  supplied  it 
with  fish  ;  or,  rather,  the  squire's  wife  had  supplied  it 
with  tench  and  carp  for  him.  He  had  therein  also 
planted  a  variety  of  water-plants,  as  the  white  and 


TBE   MIUDLETON'S.  7 

yellow  water-lily,  the  arrow-head,  and  flowering- 
rush.  He  had  built  by  this,  under  the  shade  of  some 
thick  old  trees,  a  very  nice  latticed  summer-house, 
in  which  it  was  his  great  delight  to  take  his  tea, 
smoke  his  pipe — for  his  quiet  disposition  had  early 
seduced  him  into  the  use  of  this  little  machine — or 
read  one  of  his  favourite  books ;  for  IVIr.  Wagstaff 
had  a  great  thirst  for  various  knowledge,  which  his 
intercourse  with  the  clergyman  here,  who  was  a 
simple  and  learned  man,  had  greatly  strengthened. 
In  this  summer-house  they  smoked  a  pipe  together, 
and  discussed  many  questions  in  a  very  still  and  sen- 
tentious manner,  which  would  have  made  any  of  the 
rustics  around  them  think  them  wonders  of  wisdom. 
But,  in  fact,  Seth  Wagstaff  was  one  of  those  quiet 
people  who  have  in  themselves  a  great  hunger  and 
capacity  of  knowledge.  He  had  picked  up  some  little 
Latin,  and  had  read  Virgil's  Georgics  and  Caesar's 
Commentaries  with  great  delight.  He  had  learned  to 
read  French,  and  was  very  deeply  interested  in  all  that 
related  to  the  French  Revolution — ^joining  with  the 
vicar  in  blessing  the  religious  feeling  and  noble  con- 
stitution which  had  held  up  Church  and  State  in 
England.  He  had  a  wonderful  talent  for  calculation, 
far  outdoing  the  schoolmaster  in  that  respect.  He 
had  got  a  fancy  for  astronomy  and  botany,  and, 
with  the  help  of  the  vicar,  had  learned  to  compre- 
hend the  motions  of  the  heavens,  and  to  name  a 
number  of  constellations  in  the  sky,  and  of  plants  on 
the  earth,  to  the  delight  of  himself  and  great  amaze- 


8  MinOLETON    ANn       • 

ment  of  the  villagers.  Besides  this,  ^'^'*^'J'«  to  be  seca 
on  his  little  book-shelves  volumes  of  'I'story  and 
poetry — especially  the  works  of  Milton  and  Oliver 
Goldsmith — which  sufficiently  showed,  both  by  their., 
worn  appearance,  and  the  sentiments  he  often  uttered 
out  of  them,  how  deeply  they  had  engrossed  his 
attention  and  admiration. 

We  have  thus  sketched  out  the  character  of  the 
justice's  clerk,  because  we  shall  have  to  recur  to 
him  again  in  tracing  the  origin  of  the  character  of  our 
young  friend,  Mr.  Charles  Middleton,  himself;  and 
we  now  revert  to  the  fact,  that,  soon  after  the  instal- 
ment of  WagstafF  as  justice's  clerk,  the  justice- 
room  itself,  both  outwardly  and  inwardly,  ha^ 
undergone  a  great  change  for  the  better.  Within^ 
the  place  was  neatly  supplied  with  a  heavy  old 
oak  table,  covered  with  green  baize  and  certain  big 
books  of  reference,  and  with  solid  oak  chairs,  two  ol 
which,  cushioned  with  crimson,  and  of  a  massy  and 
stately  antiquity,  were  appropriated  to  the  magis- 
trates. The  floor  was  warmly  matted,  and  on  the 
walls,  which  were  neatly  yellow- washed,  hung  various 
portraits  of  eminent  judges.  "Without,  some  neat 
green  posts -and-chains,  extending  in  a  circle  around 
the  cottage,  warded  off  the  intrusion  of  both  cattle 
and  urchins;  and  within  this  little  boundary  were 
various  beds  of  flowers  and  flourishing  laurels,  which 
gave  the  whole  a  very  attractive  aspect.  The  walls 
were  kept  most  snowily  white-washed  ;  the  pantiles 
had   given  way  to  a  thick  and  picturesque  thatch  ; 


THE    MIDDLETONS.  9 

and  a  green  door,  with  a  bright  brass  door-handle, 
and  equally  bright  knocker,  testified  to  the  exquisite 
neatness  Avhich  to  Mr.  Wagstaff  was  as  indispensable 
as  his  religion  itself. 

Here,  as  we  have  observed,  ]\Ir.  Middleton  might 
be  regularly  seen  at  ten  o'clock  on  a  Monday  morn- 
ing, advancing  from  his  own  house,  and  the  assembled 
rustics  rising  up  and  making  their  reverences.  Here 
Seth  "VVagstaff,  exact  as  clockwork,  would  be  found 
seated  at  the  table,  busy  writing  something  in  prepa- 
ration, or  going  out  to  the  applicants,  and  taking 
note  of  the  order  of  their  arrival  or  the  importance 
of  their  cases,  so  as  to  facilitate  as  much  as  possible 
the  business  of  the  magistrates. 

Justice  Middleton,  in  all  that  appertained  to  his 
office,  was  very  attentive,  and,  according  to  his 
notions,  very  impartial ;  for  he  had  a  high  sense  of 
the  dignity  of  the  magisterial  function,  and  a  consci- 
entious desire  to  do  right  between  man  and  man, 
though  his  judgment  was  continually  warped  by  con- 
ventional and  hereditary  ideas.  In  all  else  he  displayed 
a  great  constitutional  apathy  and  indifference.  He 
surveyed  his  grounds  and  his  mines ;  read  his  news- 
paper and  his  book,  generally  one  of  anecdote  or 
topography  ;  copied  out  what  he  deemed  curious  into 
a  private  volume  :  and  over  his  wine,  or  amongst  his 
neighbours,  was  very  chatty,  and  fond  of  a  merry 
story.  For  the  rest,  he  let  things  take  their  own 
course.  His  wife  followed  her  own  fancies,  and  hi.s 
son  liis ;  so  that  tlieir  proceedings  did  not  clash  with 


10  MIDDLETOiV    AND 

his  regular  clockwork  round,  or  make  too  sensible  nn 
impression  on  his  purse,  he  took  little  heed  of  either 

The  mother  had  a  much  livelier  interest  in  her 
son,  and  secured  a  much  livelier  influence  over  him. 
She  was  the  very  opposite  of  her  husband  in  mind 
and  disposition.  He  was  all  coolness  and  indifference, 
except  when  some  great  occcasion  roused  his  pride 
and  passions,  when  he  would  be  terrible ;  she  was  all 
feeling,  warmth  and  anxiety. 

Mrs.  Middleton  was  the  last  of  an  old  line  of 
wealthy  gentry  of  the  village,  who  had  always  been 
noted  for  their  passionate  dispositions^  and  yet  for  tho 
greatest  good-nature.  The  "W^estons'  blood  was  be- 
come a  by-word  for  their  choleric  temperament. 
She  possessed  all  the  excitability  of  her  family,  with 
one  of  the  best  hearts  which  ever  beat  in  a  woman's 
bosom.  She  had  Jieen  born,  and  had  lived  all  her 
life,  with  the  exception  of  a  journey  or  two  to  Lon- 
don, amid  these  villagers ;  and  there  was  not  one  of 
them  whom  she  did  not  look  upon  as  a  sort  of  rela- 
tion. She  was  a  perfect  image  and  embodiment  of 
that  mother  of  a  village,  which  usea  to  be  no  uncom- 
mon blessing  in  the  better  days  of  our  country,  and 
which — spite  of  those  great  changes  which  have  taken 
place  in  its  social  relations,  and  of  the  much  greater 
abode  of  the  gentry  in  the  metropolis  than  formerly 
— is  in  many  a  quiet  and  happy  part  of  the  country, 
where  old  minds  and  old  manners  remain,  no  uncom- 
mon thing  yet. 

Her  parents  and  her  husband  had  striven  hard  and 


THE    MIDDLETONS.  13 

long,  but  in  rain,  to  instil  into  her  what  they  called 
a  necessary  pride  and  dignity ;  these,  however,  were 
foreign  to  her  nature,  and  if  she  could  comprehend 
^  them,  she  could  not  adopt  them.  The  goodness  and 
guileless  tenderness  of  her  heart  had  made  her  cling 
with  all  her  soul  to  the  bountiful  humanity  and  hea- 
venly promises  of  the  Christian  faith;  and  many  a  rustic 
eye  had  seen  with  wonder  the  beautiful  lady  of  the 
squire,  for  she  had  a  very  meek  and  fair  beauty  of 
her  own,  weeping  plenteous  tears  during  the  zealous 
and  affectionate  sermon  of  the  rector,  while  the 
squire  himself  sat  as  calm  and  stately  as  he  did  on 
the  bench  at  the  quarter  sessions.  But  it  was  not 
here  only,  that  they  were  made  acquainted  with  the 
overflowing  tenderness  of  her  nature.  There  was  not 
one  of  them  who  had  not  seen  her,  one  time  or  ano- 
ther, as  a  ministering  angel,  as  a  bringer  of  comfort, 
of  healt^i,  or  of  peace,  into  their  cottages.  There  she 
was  a  daily  visitant.  In  all  their  troubles,  and  even 
in  all  their  sicknesses,  she  was  their  councillor,  for 
she  had  derived  from  her  mother  before  her  a  know- 
ledge of  a  certain  domestic  practice  of  medicine  which 
often  made  the  doctor  himself  confess  its  efficacy — 
though  he  always  professed  to  style  it  "  ladies' 
quackery;"  but  he  knew  that  when  it  would  not 
succeed,  the  lady  herself  would  be  the  first  to  see 
that,  and  send  for  him. 

So  fixed  had  these  habits  of  attention  to  all  the 
wants  of  her  neighbours  become,  that  the  very 
poorest,  if  they  needed  her  presence,  made  no  mora 


12  MmnLETox  and 

Bcniple  to  send  and  request  it,  than  if  it  had  been  that 
of  their  next-door  gossip ;  and  she  would  as  soon 
have  thought  of  neglecting  a  summons  to  the  pre- 
sence of  the  Queen  as  one  of  these.  Nay,  even  late 
in  life,  has  she  been  known  not  merely  to  rise 
from  table  to  hasten  to  the  relief  of  some  suffering 
neighbour,  but  even  to  leave  her  bed  at  midnight  ; 
and  many  a  dark  and  stormy  winter's  evening  might 
she  be  seen,  wrapped  in  her  thick  cloak,  hastening 
along  wild  lanes  and  through  muddy  ways,  preceded 
by  a  servant  with  a  lantern,  or  attended  by  tlie 
clergyman,  to  the  bedside  of  some  suffering  or  dying 
peasant. 

On  many  of  these  occasions  the  poor  people  have 
hung  fondly  for  comfort  on  her,  rather  than  on  the 
clergyman  himself;  and  the  good  man  has  sate 
silently  and  listened,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  to  her 
conversations  with,  and  her  exhortations  to  them,  to 
take  courage  and  comfort  in  the  goodness  of  the 
Redeemer  :  for  the  warmth  and  enthusiasm  of  her 
sympathies  often  made  her  forget  all  besides  the 
needs  and  sufferings  of  the  dying  fellow- creature, 
and  her  heart  has  poured  itself  out  in  such  a  living 
feeling  of  the  value  of  the  human  soul,  and  the 
fatherly  kindness  and  promises  of  God,  as  has  gone 
like  heavenly  sunshine  to  the  heart  of  the  eager 
listener.  And  had  she  not  in  these  motherly  offices 
her  own  exceeding  reward  ?  Was  there  any  exercise 
of  what  is  called  a  becoming  pride  and  dignity  which 
c<3uld   have  filled  her  with  such  a  flood  of  constant 


THE    MIDDLETONS.  10 

happiness,  as  these  humble  but  still  noble  duties  ? 
No;  she  had  not  that  pride,  and  therefore  she  could  not 
exercise  it ;  she  had  this  feeling  heart,  and  she  could 
not,  if  she  would,  do  otherwise.    • 

But  if  she  was  thus  affectionate  to  her  neighbours, 
what  was  she  to  her  only  son  ?  He  was  the  apple 
of  her  eye.  For  him  she  especially  lived,  and  thought, 
and  felt.  She  was  a  woman  who  pretended  not  to 
reason.  She  knew  herself,  and  made  far  less  claims 
to  be  wise  than  to  be  good.  In  fact,  she  was  rather 
led  by  her  feelings  than  by  her  understanding.  It  is 
true  that  she  had  an  intuitive  sense  of  right  and 
wrong,  and  seldom  went  very  far  aside  ;  but  it  is 
equally  true  that  her  feelings  often  carried  her 
farther  than  was  quite  prudent,  and  as  often  caused 
her  to  be  wofully  imposed  on  by  the  designing.  She 
trusted  to  her  heart,  and  in  its  pure  guidance  went 
boldly  on. 

For  her  son  she  was  fuU  of  motherly  rejoicing  and 
pride  ;  she  gloried  in  his  manly-growing  figure,  and 
his  ardent,  generous,  and  manly  disposition.  She  saw 
with  delight  the  smiles  which  everywhere  met  his 
open  face  and  frank  address.  She  longed  for  him 
that  he  should  make  himself  the  benefactor  as  well 
as  the  future  possessor  of  Middleton  ;  she  longed  that 
he  should  be  a  good  man  and  a  sincere  Christian;  and 
beyond  that,  she  longed  only  that  he  should  always 
be  near  her — near  her  liviiig,  and  close  her  eyc8 
when  she  died. 

It  was  just  at  this  period  that  Seth  "WagstaflF  bc- 
2 


ii.  MIDDLETON   AND 

came  justice's  clerk  at  Middleton.  His  simple  cha« 
ractev  and  uncommon  good  sense  made  him  speedily 
a  great  favourite,  both  at  the  liail  and  with  the 
clergyman,  the  worthy  old  Jenkinson  Millard.  The 
clergyman  praised  his  acquirements  in  learning  and 
his  good  taste,  and  wished  that  he  had  come  as  school- 
master instead  of  justice's  clerk.  He  lauded  his  skill 
in  gardening,  and  in  embellishing  his  house  and  pre- 
mises, and  declared  that  he  had  a  real  native  genius 
in  such  things,  which  it  was  a  pity  should  not  be 
exercised,  instead  of  his  merely  spending  his  life  in 
making  out  warrants  and  summonses.  But  Mrs. 
Middleton  contended  that  he  was  much  better  as  he 
was,  and  asserted  that  she  believed  Providence  had 
sent  him  expressly  to  be  a  blessing  to  the  neighbour- 
hood. With  all  reverence  for  her  goodman  and  his 
worthy  colleague.  Sir  Burnaby  Pegge,  she  thought 
they  much  oftener  decided  cases  by  their  ideas  as 
gentlemen  than  by  their  feelings  as  men ;  and  she 
hoped  that  the  mfluence  of  a  person  so  clever  and  so 
learned  in  the  law,  at  the  same  time  that  he  was  one 
of  the  people  themselves,  would  have  its  due  weight 
often  in  favour  of  the  poor  and  friendless. 

She  took,  in  fact,  an  early  opportunity  to  call  on 
Mr.  Seth,  on  the  plea  of  seeing  his  house  and  garden, 
and  giving  her  advice  as  to  making  all  comfortable 
at  a  little  expense.  She  greatly  praised  the  plans 
which  he  already  told  her  he  had  conceived  for  em- 
bellishing all  with  his  own  hands,  and  promised  him 
plants  and  wood,  and  the  occasional  assistance  of  the 


THE    MIDDLETONS.  16 

gardener.  Then,  as  she  was  about  to  come  away,  she 
turned  suddenly  round  at  the  garden-gate  before  open- 
ing it,  and  while  he  stood  with  his  hat  in  his  hand, 
with  a  bow  of  profound  respect,  to  bid  her  good  day, 
assuming  a  very  serious  air,  she  thus  addressed  him: — 
"  Young  man,  Providence  seems  to  me  to  have 
blessed  you  with  a  good  understanding,  and,  as  I  hope 
and  believe,  also  with  a  good  heart.  I  think  I  am 
not  mistaken  in  you  ;  and  let  me  tell  you  I  expect 
much  from  you.  Providence  has  raised  you  able 
friends  ;"  here  Seth  bowed  very  respectfully  ;  "  yes, 
I  say,  able  friends,  young  man,  who,  while  you  de- 
serve it,  will  never  cease  to  be  your  friends.  But 
remember,  where  much  is  given  much  is  required  ; 
and  you  are  not  to  imagine  that  you  are  sent  here 
merely  for  any  good  qualities  of  your  own,  or  to 
make  yourself  a  pleasant  nest  in  a  pleasant  place. 
No  ;  I  am  persuaded  that  nothing  is  done  without 
the  design  of  a  gracious  and  directing  Providence ; 
and  my  idea  is,  that  it  is  Providence  which  has  sent 
you  hither,  to  be  a  friend  to  the  fatherless  and  the 
afliicted — to  be  an  unflinching  friend  to  justice,  and, 
as  far  as  possible,  to  mercy.  Young  man,  you  may 
seem  to  hold  but  a  servant's  place  here,  and  may 
think  that  it  is  your  duty  only  to  hear  and  to  obey; 
but  while  I  exhort  you  to  preserve  and  show  all  proper 
obedience  and  honour  to  your  employers,  you  must 
remember  that  they  as  well  as  you  are  but  the  ser- 
vants of  a  great  and  righteous  God,  who  is  no  re- 
specter  of  persons,  and  who  will  demand  a  stricl 


16  MIDDLETON    AND 

account  of  every  action  done  here,  and  most  espe. 
cially  of  every  opportunity  omitted  to  show  kindness 
to  our  poorer  fellow-creatures.  I  say,  therefore,  '  bo 
wise  as  a  serpent,  and  harmless  as  a  dove.'  You 
have  knowledge,  and  may  often,  when  you  see  the 
way  clear,  quietly,  by  your  opinion  becomingly 
uttered,  turn  the  course  of  justice  into  its  purest  and 
most  humane  channel.  Be  bold,  therefore,  young 
man ;  fear  not  the  face  of  man,  when  the  cause  of 
God  and  man  cries  to  your  conscience,  and  God  will 
give  you  wisdom  and  ability  to  bring  peace  to  your- 
self and  honour  to  your  employers. 

"  Remember,"  said  she,  accompanying  the  word 
with  a  significant  gesture  of  her  finger,  "  that  as 
you  act,  you  will  be  a  blessing  or  a  curse  here,  and — 
for  an  influence  you  will  gain — your  influence  will 
become  a  blessing  or  a  curse  to  yourself  !" 

As  she  thus  ceased,  she  opened  the  gate,  and  nod- 
ding with  a  kind  smile,  went  hastily  away. 

Seth  WagstafF  stood  for  some  seconds  on  the  spot 
where  she  had  left  him,  with  his  hat  still  in  his 
hand,  and  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground.  The  so- 
lemnity and  suddenness  of  this  address  had  surprised 
him;  but,  besides  this,  there  was  something  so  un- 
worldly, so  holy,  so  noble  and  true,  in  both  the  sen- 
timents and  the  manner  of  it,  that  his  heart  was 
deeply  impressed  by  it.  His  heart,  indeed,  was  just 
the  one  into  which  such  an  address  would  penetrate 
and  stick  fast,  so  simple,  and  yet  so  sensible  of  all 
that  was  good  and  beautiful.     As  he  raised  his  eyeg 


TOE    MIDDLETONS.  17 

the  tears  glistened  in  them ;  and  holding  his  hat  a 
little  elevated  above  his  forehead  before  putting  it 
on,  he  breathed  silently  and  fervently  to  himself 
these  words — "  God  make  me  worthy  of  my  many 
blessings,  and  of  the  esteem  of  this  good  lady  !" 

To  his  dying  day  these  words  were  never  for- 
gotten by  Seth  Wagstaff ;  and  his  first  impulse  was 
to  rush  into  the  house  and  pen  them  down  ;  but  he 
saw,  before  he  had  taken  a  second  step,  that  they 
stood  all  clearly  engraven  on  his  heart,  and  that 
with  all  the  feeling  of  her  aspect,  voice,  and  manner, 
which  gave  them  a  force  that  no  copy  could  possess. 

In  his  old  age  they  stood  there  with  greater  bright- 
ness ;  and  he  often  blessed  them,  as  his  counsellors 
and  strengthcners  to  the  performance  of  his  duty  in 
many  a  trying  moment. 


CHAPTER  II.  • 

THE    squire's    son. 

Scarcely  was  Wagstaff  thus  auspiciously  installed 
in  his  office,  in  his  house,  and  in  the  favour  of  the 
Middletons,  when  the  son  Charles  returned  from 
Oxford.  He  was  now  arrived  at  manhood,  and  was 
a  cheerful  and  ardent  young  man,  full  of  the  enjoy- 
ment of  existence.  As  he  had  been  always  accus- 
tomed to  contemplate  settling  down  here  on  the 
termination  of  his  education,  and  leading  the  life 
which  his  ancestors  had  done  before  him,  he  seemed 


18  THE    squire's  SOV 

now  to  have  nothing  to  do  but  to  pass  his  time  as 
agreeably  as  he  could. 

Young  Middleton  had  always  been  enthusiast! 
cally  fond  of  the  country  and  its  sports.  Riding  and 
shooting  and  fishing  had  occupied  the  greater  part  of 
his  time  at  home,  and  seemed  destined  to  occupy  it 
still.  He  had  made  many  acquaintances  with  the 
sons  of  the  neighbouring  gentry  and  nobility  during 
his  college  years  ;  and  sometimes  he  was  on  a  visit  to 
them ;  sometimes  one  or  other  of  them  were  here 
with  him ;  and  the  days  fled  on  in  mirth  and  active 
pursuit  of  sport.  Any  one  would  have  deemed 
Charles  Middleton  unquestionably  devoted  for  life  to 
country  and  social  pleasures.  Not  a  care  had 
clouded  his  open  brow,  or  dimmed  the  clear  heaven 
of  his  glad  blue  eyes.  No  one  was  more  gay,  witty, 
or  agreeable  in  society ;  no  one  went  with  such  un- 
tiring eagerness  into  the  daily  enjoyment  of  the 
fields  and  woods.  He  seemed  to  have  a  relish  for 
life  and  its  sunshine,  for  society  and  its  laughter,  for 
the  chase  of  all  that  flood  and  field  could  offer, 
which  it  was  quite  a  pleasure  to  behold. 

His  mother  looked  on  him  with  eyes  of  maternal 
rapture,  only  throwing  in  now  and  then,  in  hours 
when  they  were  left  to  themselves,  to  be  as  good  as 
he  was  happy  :  and  in  those  hours  Charles  was  as 
happy  in  his  mother's  society,  as  he  was  at  other 
times  in  that  of  the  most  beautiful  and  most  spirited 
of  his  younger  friends.  He  was  fondly  attached  to 
his  mother,  and  regarded  her,  as  she  rea)ly  was,  as 


THE    SQUIRES   SON.  19 

the  best  of  women.  He  entered  into  all  hei  tastes 
most  especially  for  flowers,  which  she  always  re- 
garded with  an  admiration  similar  to  that  with  which 
she  contemplated  the  sky  and  the  beauty  of  moun- 
tains. She  had  indeed  the  most  living  and  almost 
passionate  attachment  to  all  that  was  beautiful  in 
nature,  and  had  communicated  this  feeling  in  all  its 
fulness  to  him.  Her  heart  indeed  seemed  to  live  in 
the  alternating  sensations  of  thankfulness  to  the 
Great  Creator  for  all  that  he  had  diffused  over  the 
earth  of  beauty,  sweetness,  and  plenty,  and  in  love 
and  care  for  those  who  dwelt  on  it  with  her.  She 
would  often,  as  the  dusk  of  evening  fell  around,  and 
as  Charles  and  she  sat  in  the  bay-window  of  the  old 
hall,  or  as  they  sate  on  a  summer  noon  in  some 
shady  arbour  in  the  walks,  and  gazed  on  the  land- 
scape— perhaps  lively  with  the  cries  and  activity  of 
the  haymakers,  or  lowering  with  the  dark  grandeur 
of  a  storm-cloud — talk  to  him  till  the  tears  stood  in 
her  eye  ;  and  Charles  himself  would  only  answer  by 
a  silent  pressure  or  kiss  of  her  hand. 

At  other  times  he  went  merrily  with  her  to  her 
bees,  her  poultry,  her  flower-garden  ;  and  would  ac 
company  her  to  her  cottage  visits,  and   make  her 
perfectly  happy  by  the  interest  he  took  in  everybody 
and  everything  which  interested  her. 

There  was  but  one  thhig  which  Mrs.  Middleton 
wished  for  her  son,  and  that  was  to  see  him  suitably 
married,  and  fixed,  for  the  remainder  of  their  days, 
somewhere  near.      On  this  head,  however,  she  coun- 


20  THE    squire's    son. 

selled  him,  with  great  earnestness,  to  look  well  about 
him,  and  to  choose  only  one  worthy  of  him  in  qua' 
litics  of  heart  and  mind.  With  a  mother's  partiality, 
she  believed  that,  with  his  agreeable  person  and 
really  great  talents,  he  might  choose  almost  whom 
he  Avould.  What  he  did  in  this  respect  we  shall 
see  in  process  of  time. 

In  the  mean  time  he  gradually  spent  more  and 
more  time  with  the  clergyman  and  S6th  \^''agstaif. 
The  greater  part  of  his  leisure,  notwithstanding  his 
rather  extensive  acquaintance  in  that  and  the  neigh- 
bouring counties,  was,  after  all,  to  be  filled  up  at 
home.  The  worthy  old  rector  had  been,  from  hia 
boyish  days,  a  great  companion  of  his  in  fishing  and 
shooting ;  and  now,  both  through  him  and  his  mother 
he  had  come  to  notice  particularly  Seth  Wagstaff, 
and  the  more  he  had  seen  of  him  the  more  was  he 
taken  with  him.  There  was  something  peculiarly 
attractive  to  him  in  the  contemplation  of  the  mind 
and  character  of  such  a  person  as  Wagstaff.  The 
means  and  steps  by  which  he  had  gleaned  up,  out 
of  various  fields,  and  under  various  disadvantages, 
his  amount  of  knowledge — the  process  and  the 
resources  of  a  course  of  self-education,  which,  after 
all,  had  been  the  greater  portion  of  Seth's  education- 
had  something  very  novel  in  them  to  Charles,  whose 
every  step  had  been  attended  and  directed  by  the 
best  helps  and  masters  of  the  time.  Then  the  utter 
transparent  simplicity  and  honesty  of  heart  which 
marked  his  whole   demeanour  and  language  were  to 


THE    squire's    son.  21 

him  a  matter  of  astonishment,  and  at  the  same  time 
of  admh-ation.  The  provincial  accent,  and  not  only 
accent,  but  entire  tone,  and  his  still  rustic  manner, 
gave  a  very  peculiar  character  to  the  very  correct 
language  which  he  used,  and  still  more  so  to  the 
Bound  and  shrewd  opinions  which  he  uttered  in  the 
quietest  possible  manner. 

Spite,  however,  of  that  very  quiet  manner,  and  of 
the  generally  silent  manner  of  Seth  WagstafF — for 
he  was  by  no  means  of  a  talkative  turn,  and  seemed 
always  fonder  of  listening,  with  his  pipe  in  his  mouth, 
to  the  conversation  of  others  than  of  talking  himself^— 
yet  Cliarles  soon  observed  that  he  would  at  times 
take  his  pipe  suddenly  from  his  mouth,  and  say, 
"  Nay,  but  look  at  that  again  a  little  ;"  and  he  found 
that  on  those  occasions  he  was  sure  to  give  such  a 
colour  and  feeling  of  truth  and  undeniable  justice  to 
his  opinion,  that  it  was  not  easy  to  resist  it.  He 
saw,  moreover,  that,  quiet  as  was  his  manner,  there 
was  a  wonderful  firmness  in  his  tone  of  mind  ;  that, 
without  losing  his  temper  or  self-possession,  he  could 
argue  with  a  logical  clearness  that  soon  put  all  but 
the  most  positive  wrong -headedness  to  silence. 
Charles  had  been  accustomed  to  hear  ail  subjects 
discussed  and  debated,  and  that  too  by  some  of  the 
sharpest  wits  of  the  day  ;  but  in  these  debates  there 
had  always  mingled  more  or  less  of  the  bias  of  party, 
rank,  or  education,  or  of  the  pride  of  intellect  and 
strife  for  rhetorical  mastery  ;  but  here  he  heard  tnith 
and  nature  as  they  had  grown  up  in  a  sound  heart, 
2 


22  ,  THE  squire's  son. 

living  apart  froni  all  corrupting  or  deluding  influ- 
ences, and  in  an  intellect  which,  though  it  was  strong 
and  bright  as  polished  steel,  had  lain  in  too  humble 
a  head  to  be  flattered.  The  more  he  saw  and  heard 
and  felt  of  this,  the  more  his  heart  warmed  to  these 
sentiments,  and  he  felt  assured  that  this  was  nothing 
but  the  truth,  the  sound  and  genuine  truth  of  nature, 
and  deserving  of  all  homage. 

The  clergyman  and  Wagstaff  might  in  an  eve- 
ning be  mostly  found  together,  and  Charles  had 
only  to  seek  the  one  to  place  himself  in  the  company 
of  both.  But  he  soon,  with  the  assistance  of  the 
clergyman,  induced  Seth  to  join  them  in  a  day's 
shooting  now  and  then ;  and  though  at  first  he 
handled  a  gun  in  a  style  which  occasioned  much 
merriment  at  his  expense,  it  was  not  long  before  he 
showed  that  he  could  hit  a  hare  or  a  partridge,  as 
well  as  he  could  knock  down  a  specious  sophism. 
In  these  occasional  rounds,  or  while  they  were  fish- 
ing together,  or  in  their  evening  conversations  at 
home,  they  had  a  world  of  discourse  on  books,  in 
which  they  in  the  main  agreed  extremely  well, — 
though  the  clergyman  and  Seth  often  got  into  deep 
though  not  noisy  argument  on  points  in  which  the 
clergyman's  educational  or  professional  ideas  found 
no  sympathy,  and  sometimes  very  little  mercy,  from 
Seth.  Indeed,  young  Middleton  found  that  the 
clergyman  and  AV'agstaff"  differed  vastly  on  many 
points  ;  and  when  the  clergyman  and  the  squire  also 
were  m  the  company,  he  and  Seth  were  sure  to  be  in 


THE    squire's   SOP^.  23 

opposition  to  them  on  many  questions;  but  when 
Seth,  himself,  and  his  mother  were  together,  it  wa4 
wonderful  that  they  could  hardly  find  matter  of  argu- 
ment. There  was  a  somethuig  so  peculiar  in  their 
minds,  that  the  more  they  pursued  any  subject  of  taste, 
B8  of  opinion,  the  more  completely  they  agreed. 

It  was  one  of  the  greatest  pleasures  which  these 
three  enjoyed,  to  compare  their  opinions  of  books, 
or  of  religion  and  questions  of  humanity.  Th^ro 
seemed  to  grow  among  them,  on  such  occasions,  a 
warmth  and  enlargement  of  heart,  a  spirit  of  union 
and  of  pleasure,  that  approached  near  to  their  ideas 
of  heaven,  and  that  inspired,  without  any  words  to 
that  effect,  each  individual  bosom  with  a  zeal  for  the 
good  of  others,  which  was  itself  a  high  happiness. 

Charles  took  great  pleasure,  too,  in  conversing  with 
Seth  on  the  works  of  our  best  authors,  and  in  fur- 
nishing him  with  such  as  he  had  not  read  from  the 
library  in  the  hall.  By  this  means  he  greatly  in- 
creased the  range  of  Seth's  knowledge,  and  added  to 
the  sterling  wealth  of  his  mind  ;  but  the  benefit 
which  he  conferred  was  speedily  more  than  repaid. 

The  justice's  clerk  soon  began  to  see  that  young 
Middleton  possessed  a  very  different  and  much  higher 
order  of  character  than  he  had  imagined,  or  than  he 
or  any  of  his  friends,  except  his  mother,  was  aware 
of.  He  had  watched  him  closely,  and  listened  to 
him  attentively,  when  any  matter^which  affected  the 
great  principles  of  justice  and  humanity  were  under 
«iiscussion  ;  and  he  soon  perceived  that  the   ardour 


24  THE  squire's  son. 

with  which  he  threw  himself  into  every  field-sport 
and  all  ordinary  pursuits  was  a  grand  part  of  hia 
constitution,  and  displayed  itself  in  everything 
which  seized  his  attention,  and  pre-eminently  so 
in  all  moral  and  great  social  questions.  There  was 
in  him  a  fire  and  an  im^etaosity  which  might  lead 
their  possessor,  without  proper  guidance,  into  troubles 
and  personal  feuds,  hut  which  are  great  gifts  of  Pro- 
vidence for  the  demolition  of  the  creeping  evils  of 
society,  and  for  the  advancement  of  the  highest 
victories  of  humanity,  and  with  which  no  great 
champion  of  truth  and  right  ever  went  unprovided. 

Charles  had  often  attended  at  the  justice-room ; 
and  while  he  watched  with  admiration  the  operations 
of  an  intellect  in  Seth,  as  clear  and  sound  as  a  bell, 
by  which,  with  wonderful  apparent  coolness  and  real 
address,  he  had  gently  but  firmly  led  the  magistrates 
to  a  just  conclusion,  Seth  had  not  less  observed,  on 
his  part,  the  indignant  impatience  which  had  flushed 
in  his  face,  and  betrayed  itself  in  his  whole  frame, 
when  there  seemed  a  danger  of  a  partial  decision 
or  infliction  of  severity  on  poverty,  or  a  winking  at 
its  righteous  claims  through  the  seductive  influence 
of  wealth,  friendship,  or  neighbourhood. 

Charles  Middleton,  in  fact,  possessed  a  singular 
mixture  of  the  qualities  of  his  parents.  He  had  the 
capacity  and  the  reasoning  powers  which  his  father, 
with  a  very  inferior  education,  had  always  displayed 
when  he  had  been  roused  by  any  stiiring  occasion  to 
their  esfercise,  and  which,  had  they  been  cultivated 


THE    squire's   son.  26 

and  actively  exercised,  might  have  led  him  to  fa? 
greater  honour  and  estate  than  he  possessed.  But 
with  his  father's  vigour  of  intellect,  Charles  possessed, 
not  exactly  his  apathy,  for  he  was  of  a  restless  and 
indefatigable  character,  but  a  certain  carelessness  of 
business.  Had  any  one,  indeed,  told  the  old  gentle- 
man that  he  himself  had  no  real  taste  for  business, 
he  would  have  felt  much  insulted,  for  there  never 
was  a  man  who  more  regularly  rode  round  his  lands 
and  visited  his  mines ;  but  this,  notwithstanding,  did 
not  result  from  a  love  of  business,  but  from  a  feeling 
that  it  was  necessary  to  prevent  things  going  wrong. 
Had  the  old  gentleman  really  possessed  a  love  of 
business,  with  the  spirit  of  enterprise  which  grows 
Out  of  it,  there  had  been  opportunities  in  his  life  of 
pushing  his  mining  operations  to  an  extent  which 
would  have  trebled  his  fortune. 

Charles  possessed  the  same  feature  of  character. 
He  turned  from  all  ideas  of  actual  enterprise  and 
business  with  an  inward  and  unconquerable  repug- 
nance. He  knew  that  his  paternal  estate  was  good, 
and  he  thought  it  easy  to  maintain  it  so  ;  and  he 
asked  himself  what  he  needed  more. 

But  this  did  not  result  more  from  his  partici- 
pation in  his  father's  temperament  than  in  his 
mother's.  He  had  all  the  warmth  and  impatience 
of  disposition  of  her  family,  her  quickness  and  sen- 
Bitiveness  of  feeling.  His  contempt  of  folly  or  mean- 
ness, his  indignation  against  anything  like  injustice  or 
oppression  of  the  vreak,  his  scorn  of  sophistry  and  de- 
3 


26  THE    SQL'IRE's    son. 

ception,  were  all  his  mother's.  He  had  the  same  intense 
love  of  the  country,  the  same  passionate  admiration  of 
natural  and  intellectual  beauty,  the  same  innate  ten- 
derness of  religious  feeling,  the  same  open,  honest, 
high,  and  incorruptible  heart.  With  these  he  possessed 
a  much  higher  range  of  imagination — partly  derived 
from  the  stronger  paternal  organisation,  and  partly 
because  his  imagination  had  been  fed  and  expanded 
by  a  wider  stretch  of  reading,  and  a  wider  survey  of 
his  native  country  in  its  finest  portions. 

A  highly  poetical  feeling  and  a  tendency  to  poetical 
composition  had  more  than  once  exhibited  itself 
in  his  mother's  family,  and  there  was  not  a  more 
genuine  lover  of  poetry  than  his  mother  herself. 
This  temperament,  unknown  to  himself,  he  had 
inherited  in  a  still  greater  degree.  This  showed 
itself  in  his  fondness  for  the  country,  even  in  its 
sports ;  for  in  fishing  and  shooting,  the  beauty  and 
solitude  of  the  scenes  into  which  they  led  aflfected 
his  imagination,  as  deeply  as  the  excitement  of  the 
chase  roused  all  his  ardour  of  temperament.  It 
showed  itself  not  less  in  the  journeys  he  had  made 
to  most  of  the  mountainous  and  more  beautiful 
scenery  of  his  native  country,  especiall^y  to  such  as 
history  or  romance  had  clothed  in  their  rainbow  hues 
— journeys,  many  of  which,  with  young  and  joyous 
companions,  he  had  made  on  foot,  and  the  memory  of 
which  remained  with  him  full  of  enchantment. 

The  great  native  talent,  the  strength  of  under- 
standing, and  the  high  moral  pitch  of  his  feeling,  bad 


THE    SQUIKEJs    SON.  ^ 

none  of  them  been  lost  on  Seth  Wagstaff ;  and  he 
had  often,  in  the  arguments  which  they  had  held 
with  the  old  gentleman  and  the  clergyman,  listened 
with  wonder  to  the  bursts  of  indignant  eloquence 
which  Charles  had  poured  out  against  what  appeared 
to  him  oppressive  or  unworth3\ 

*'  That  would  make  a  fine  sensation  in  the  Court 
of  Common  Pleas,  in  a  right  cause,"  Wagstaff  would 
say  to  himself,  and  thereafter  fall  into  sundry  reflec- 
tions. These  reflections  often  repeated,  as  repeated 
occasions  gave  rise  to  them,  led  him  at  last  to 
the  conclusion  that  Charles  Middleton  was  capable 
of  something  much  greater  and  better  than  merely 
to  live  on  his  estate,  and  waste  all  his  vast  amount 
of  passion,  feeling,  and  sense  on  subjects  that  were 
not  adequately  important. 

One  evening  Charles  had  been  ardently  declaiming 
against  the  treatment  of  a  young  man  who  had  been 
summoned  by  a  wealthy  farmer  before  the  magistrates 
for  an  assault,  and  convicted  and  fined  for  it,  though 
it  appeared  as  clear  as  daylight  to  Charles  that  it 
was  the  farmer  himself  who  was  really  guilty  of  the 
assault ,  and  though  he  saw  that  Wagstaff  was  of  the 
same  opinion,  but  could  get  from  his  father  no  other 
idea  than  the  one  expressed  in  his  frequent  exclamation, 
"  What  1  Farmer  Greatrake  capable  of  an  assault !" 

It  was  when  Charles  had  just  uttered  an  indig- 
nant protest  against  taking  conventional  notions  instead 
of  plain  fact,  that  Seth  suddenly  said, — "  Mr.  Mid- 
dleton, why  don't  you  make  Mr.  Charles  a  lawyer  ?* 


28  THE  squire's  son. 

"  A  lawyer  ?"  exclaimed  the  squire,  with  surprise, 
and  as  indignant  in  his  turn  as  his  son  had  been  ;  foi 
he  was  somewhat  ruffled  by  the  plain-speaking  of 
Charles,  especially  before  the  clergyman  and  his  own 
clerk,  and  more  especially  as  he  began  to  have  a 
secret  feeling  that  his  son  was  right  after  all,  and 
that,  out  of  preconceived  fiiith  in  Farmer  Greatrake's 
respectability  he  had  very  probably  done  injustice 
to  an  innocent  person — and  there  is  nothing  which 
makes  a  person  so  angry  as  such  a  feeling.  "  A 
lawyer?"  repeated  he,  kicking  away  a  sleeping 
pointer  that  lay  at  his  feet  before  the  fire,  and 
pressed  somewhat  heavily  against  the  old  gentle- 
man's toe ;  "and  why  so?  Are  there  not  rogues  enough 
already  in  your  profession,  Master  WagstafF  ?" 

"  Why,"  said  A^agstaff  without  betraying  the 
slightest  symptom  of  having  given  or  taken  offence, 
though  he  saw  a  deep  flush  mount  into  Charles's 
face  at  his  father's  words,  "  it  is  for  that  very  reason 
that  I  should  like  to  see  Mr.  Charles  a  lawyer.  A 
rogue  he  neither  would  nor  could  add  to  the  number  ; 
it  is  out  of  his  nature  ;  but  he  might,  and  very  likely 
would,  add  a  Lord  Chancellor  to  the  list  of  great 
men  that  have  adorned  the  woolsack." 

"  A  Lord  Chancellor !"  said  the  squire  again ; 
"  stuff  and  nonsense !  Lord  Chancellors,  let  me 
tell  you,  are  not  so  soon  made.  With  all  deference 
to  Charles,  and  his  mother  too,  he  has  too  much  of 
the  Weston  blood  in  him  to  make  a  good  lawyer." 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear/'  said  Mrs.  Middleton,  with 


THE    squire's    son.  2S 

a  pleasant  nod  and  smile,  as  she  sat  quietly  listening 
to  the  conversation  at  her  work- table. 

"  What  I  say  is  true,  my  dear,"  continued  the 
squire,  but  in  a  milder  tone.  "  A  Lord  Chancellor 
in  our  family  would  sound  wondrous  well ;  but  my 
ojnnion  of  Charles  is,  that  he  is  just  the  last  man  to 
malce  one  cut  of.  Lord  bless  me  !  ^V^hy,  if  he  had 
once  a  wig  and  a  gown  on,  he  would  kick  up  a 
pretty  riot  at  the  bar.  He  would  beard  the  judge 
on  the  bench,  if  he  did  not  agree  with  him  in  his 
opinion,  and  tax  every  brother  barrister  with  being 
a  mean,  venal,  fellow  who  undertook  a  cause  which, 
to  his  fancy,  was  not  all  virtue  and  honour,  and  I 
know  not  what.     Is  that  the  way  to  the  woolsack  ?" 

The  old  clergyman  smiled.  Charles  and  his 
mother  both  laughed  outright,  for  they  felt  that 
there  was  a  good  deal  of  truth  in  the  squire's  descrip- 
tion of  his  son's  hasty  temperament.  Seth  WagstafF 
even  smiled  too,  but  drummed  gently  with  his  fingers 
on  the  table  near  him,  which  was  as  much  as  to  say, 
that  he  could  add  something  now  if  it  would  do  any 
good.  But  the  conversation  was  not  continued,  for 
the  clergyman's  maid  came  to  say  that  he  was  wanted, 
and  he  and  Seth  went  home  together. 

"  You  had  rather  the  worst  of  it  with  the  squire 
the  other  evening,  about  the  woolsack,"  said  the 
clergyman,  a  day  or  two  after,  as  he  drew  a  chair 
to  Seth  AVagstafF's  fireside,  and  took  his  seat,  giving 
Seth,  who  sat  with  a  book  in  one  hand,  and  a  pipe 
in  the  other,  a  gentle  pat  on  the  shoulder. 


30  THE    squire's   son. 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  answered  6eth ;  "the  squire 
was  right  enough  on  one  side  of  the  question,  and  I 
was  equally  right  on  the  other ;  but  it  was  just  then 
no  use  arguing  the  matter.  Mr.  Charles  has  great 
impatience  of  what  he  deems  mean  or  wa'ong,  and 
that,  without  he  learns  caution,  will  make  him  bitter 
enemies.  He  has  great  sense,  and  the  law  is  just 
Ae  school  to  strengthen  that  sense,  and  to  show  him 
file  danger  of  rashness.  He  would  soon,  I  trust, 
learn  that  no  man  single-handed  can  reform  the 
whole  world,  and  root-  all  meanness  aud  wickedness 
out  of  it.  A  few  raps  would  make  him  circum- 
spect, and  yet  would  leave  alive  in  him  that  generous 
fire  of  virtuous  indignation  which  on  great  occasions 
would  wither  u  p  villany,  and  champion  oppressed  virtue, 
in  the  most  triumphant  style.  Passion  is  the  food  of 
eloquence,  and,  united  to  a  fine  and  high  moral  sense, 
is,  where  there  is  sense  to  use  it,  one  of  the  noblest 
weapons  put  by  Providence  into  the  keeping  of  man. 
Besides,  all  that  irritability  which  is  inherent  in  the 
constitution  of  our  young  friend,  if  1  may  presume  to 
call  him  so,  must  have  a  vent,  a  scope,  a  field  of 
exercise  in  which  virtuously  and  usefully  to  work 
itself  off.  The  courts  of  law  are  this  field,  where 
talent  and  eloquence  find  daily  occasion  for  battle 
against  meanness,  selfishness,  and  cunning — and  that 
in  behalf  of  the  weak,  the  young,  the  inexperienced, 
and  the  good.  By  the  time  that  our  young  friend 
reached  the  bench  he  would  have  had  ample  occasion 
of  this  kind,  for    the  public  is  never  unobservant  of 


THE    squire's    son.  3J 

the  right  man  ;  and  his  mind  and  his  feelings  must  ^ 

liave  acquired  a  staid,  philosophical  calm,  which,  with 
that  pure  conscience  which  Mr.  Charles  derive* 
from  his  mother,  and  which  nothing,  I  am  per- 
suaded, could  corrupt,  would  produce  a  judge — " 

"  Like  another  Sir  Matthew  Hale !"  interrupted 
the  old  clergyman,  smiling.  "  Upon  my  word, 
Wagstaff,  you  grow  quite  poetical ;  but  your  castle 
in  the  air  has  no  handful  of  earth  in  this  world  to 
stand  upon.  Mr.  Cliarles  will  never  study  the  law; 
he  must  study  mathematics ;  they  are  the  thing  to 
steady,  and  cool  a  man's  judgment !" 

"  And  he  won't  study  mathematics  !"  said  Setb, 
with  something  more  than  his  usual  sharpness. 

"  Why  not?"  asked  the  clergyman;  "  why 
shouldn't  he  ?" 

"  And  why  shouldn't  he  study  law  ?"  rejoined 
Seth. 

"  Because  he  won't,"  rejoined  the  clergyman ; 
"  and  that's  why." 

Seth  burst  out  a-laughing  :  the  old  clergyman 
laughed  as  heartily,  and  then  added — 

"  I  hope,  WagstafF,  J'ou  find  my  logic  very  good ; 
but,  to  leave  laughter  and  contradiction,  see  here. 
Mr.  Charles  has  a  good  estate ;  and,  as  far  as  I  can 
see,  though  he  has  much  fire  and  feeling,  he  has  no 
ambition.  The  law  is  a  bother ;  and  when  a  man 
has  an  estate,  what  need  he  bother  himself?" 

"  Because,"  interrupted  Seth,  "  he  may  mako  that 
estate — " 


S2  THE   squire's  SOX. 

"  Ay,  ay — I  know  what  you  would  say  ;  he  may 
make  that  estate  a  vast  deal  bigger  at  the  expense  of 
fools — "  Seth  nodded.  "  ^Vell,  don't  interrupt  nie  then 
— that  I  know;  but  to  do  that  he  must  go  away 
from  home — "  Seth  nodded  again.  "  WagstafF,"  said 
the  good  old  Mr.  Millard,  "  you  get  tiresome.  I 
think  Mr.  Charles  has  inoculated  you  with  his  im- 
patience; how  you  do  interrupt  me  !" 

'•  I  said  nothing,"  quietly  uttered  Seth. 

"  Said !  there  now,  are  you  not  talking  again  ? 
Well,  to  study  the  law,  Mr.  Charles  must  go  to  Lon- 
don for  at  least  three  years  ;  he  must  make  up  his 
mind  to  live  there  chiefly  afterwards.  Now,  that  is 
not  to  his  taste.  He  doesn't  want  that — his  mother 
doesn't  want  it — and  there  is  no  need  of  it.  But 
mathematics — these  he  can  study  here ;  you  and  I 
can  assist  him  in  these.  He  need  not  budge  a  foot ; 
they  will  cool  his  mind,  strengthen  his  judgment ; 
and,  by-the-bye,  if  he  need  what  you  call  a  noble 
exercise  of  his  faculties,  let  him  take  orders." 

"  Take  orders!"  said  Seth,  staring  at  the  clergy- 
man. 

"  Yes,  take  orders  !  One  flay  he  will  he  master 
and  magistrate  here ;  why  not  clergyman  also  ? — and 
then  surely  you  have  an  accumulation  of  duties,  great 
and  godlike  enough  for  the  employment  of  any  man, 
or  the  exercise  of  any  faculties." 

"  Ay,  too  many  duties,"  said  Seth,  "  to  be  united 
in  one  man." 

"Well,  then,  Wagstaff— well,    thenl"   said   the 


THE   SQUIRES    SON.  3o 

rector,  triumphantly  ;  "let  him  study  mathematics, 
and  not  take  orders.     He  will  still — " 

"  To  make  short  of  it,"  interrupted  Seth,  "he won't 
Btudy  your  mathematics  at  all !  He  hates  all  calcu- 
lation as  he  hates— Satan,"  added  he,  after  being  just 
on  the  point  of  using  a  worse  name. 

''  That's  a  pity,"  said  the  rector,  with  a  shake  of 
the  head  and  a  sadder  look ;  "  and  yet  I  am  afpaid  it 
is  too  true.  I  am  sorry  to  find  he  has  not  paid  much 
attention  to  these  studies  at  Oxford,  though  in  clas- 
sical ones,  and  in  all  that  relates  to  history  and  general 
literature,  he  has  made  great  progress." 

"  Ay,"  said  Seth,  "  that  is  because  in  these  he  finds 
food  for  his  imagination  and  his  feelings ;  he  could 
be  by  no  possibility  raised  to  a  senior  wrangler,  but 
a  judge  or  a  Lord  Chancellor — " 

The  rector  rose,  with  "  Well,  well,"  and  began 
talking  of  the  chill,  rainy  weather,  which,  in  the 
middle  of  summer,  made  it  necessary  even  to  have 
a  fire — and  so  went  away  ;  but  Seth  had  got  his  Lord 
Chancellor  so  far  into  his  head,  that  it  was  not  long 
before  he  found  an  opportunity  to  broach  his  theory 
to  Charles  himself. 

As  he  was  relating,  therefore,  to  Seth  the  exploits 
and  excitement  of  a  late  otter-hunting  with  some  of 
his  young  friends,  and  thence  ran  on  in  great  praise 
of  all  the  pleasures  of  a  country-life,  Seth  sympathised 
with  him :  said  it  was  a  fine  thing  to  have  a  good 
estate,  and  to  be  capable  of  enjoy  ingaU  the  stirring  pur- 
suits of  English  rural  life,  but  that  he  often  wondered 


34  THE  squire's  sow. 

that  Mr.  Charles  did  not  get  a  notion  of  adding  a  stiFi 
higher  kind  of  pleasure  to  this  life — that  of  serving 
his  country  in  some  great  capacit}-,  such  as  his  talents 
and  zealous  constitution  might  dictate  to  him ;  and 
then  he  "svent  on  to  describe  what  he  might  effect  in 
the  law — what  wealth  and  distinction  he  might  add 
to  the  family  estate  and  name.  AV^hat  a  fine  thing 
it  would  be,  if  he  himself  should  be  the  means  of 
winning  a  peerage  for  his  house  ;  of  giving  his  cliil- 
dren  a  great  and  permanent  stand  in  the  country ; 
and,  at  the  same  time,  of  becoming  himself  a  foun- 
tain, not  merely  of  all  this  to  his  own  family,  but  of 
many  blessings  and  comforts  to  thousands  of  others. 
He  drew  a  most  splendid  picture  of  the  triumphs  of 
intellect  and  eloquence  in  the  courts  of  law;  of  quail- 
ing vice  and  villany  ;  of  maintaining  the  cause  of  the 
injured  and  the  virtuous ;  and  of  sitting  as  the 
righteous  and  honoured  dispenser  of  the  laws  of 
his  country. 

To  all  this  Charles  listened  with  wonder,  and  some 
little  amusement,  till  Seth  began  to  talk  of  the  wool- 
sack, when  he  could  contam  no  longer,  but  burst  out 
into  a  fit  of  the  heartiest  laughter. 

"  Me,  are  you  talking  of,  Seth  ?  I,  Lord  Chan- 
cellor I"  said  he.  "My  good  Wagstaff,  get  bled 
immediately,  or  get  one  of  my  mother's  sedative 
powders." 

Charles  ran  off  to  amuse  his  mother  with  Wag- 
staff's  romance. 

His  mother  was  equally  merry  over  it,  but  added 


THE    SQUtRfi's    SOK.  35 

that  the  vision  of  the  woolsack  was  not,  in  her 
opinion,  so  ridiculous  as  he  supposed  it.  It  had  been, 
and  would  be  again,  the  prize  of  talent  and  perse- 
varance;  and  she  had  no  donl)t  that  Charles  had 
enough  of  both  these  qualities  to  raise  him  to  great 
distinction  if  he  chose  so  to  apply  them.  "  But," 
added  she,  "  you  have  a  fine  estate  here  ;  you  can  do 
much  good,  and  lead  an  honourable  life,  here ;  and  I 
hope  you  will  never  think  of  leaving  us." 

Charles  thought  his  mother  almost  as  mad  as  Seth ; 
and  on  telling  the  rector,  to  amuse  him,  with  their 
notions  of  his  capabilities,  was  not  the  less  diverted 
at  the  worthy  old  man's  desire,  that  he  should  study 
the  mathematics  and  take  orders. 

But  though  he  laughed  at  these  things,  they  had 
nevertheless  their  effect.  He  began  to  reflect  on  the 
future  prospects  of  his  life;  to  ask  himself  whetheir 
he  reall}'^  were  capable  of  something  higher,  and  more 
serviceable  to  his  fellow-men,  than  a  mere  country 
gentleman  ?  The  fuel  of  honourable  ambition,  which 
had  till  then  lain  unnoticed  in  his  bosom,  had  caught 
the  kindling  spark :  new  feelings  rushed  over  him, 
and  a  new  world  opened  before  him.  He  became 
conscious  of  fears  and  anxieties,  of  hopes  and  aspira- 
tions, which  he  till  then  had  never  experienced. 
The  light  heart  of  thoughtless  youth  was  gone  for 
ever;  care  cast  its  nameless,  dim,  but  indelible 
shadow  on  his  brow  ;  and  a  melancholy,  out  of  which 
was  to  rise  a  new  ardour  and  enterprise  of  life,  hung 
with  a  novel  strangeness  about  him.      He  became 


S6  THE  squire's  son. 

silent  and  thoughtful.  His  mother  was  the  first  to 
notice  it,  and  ask  if  he  were  not  well ;  his  father 
noticed  it  too,  and  added  that  he  thought  he  was 
hypped  by  the  dull  weather  and  the  dull  time  of  the 
year,  as  he  called  it,  when  no  field-sports  were  going 
on,  and  advised  him  to  make  a  journey  to  see  some 
of  his  young  friends,  or  to  the  sea-side.  The  clergy- 
man said  he  really  hoped  he  was  beginning  to  think 
of  studying  the  mathematics  and  taking  orders  ;  and 
Seth  hoped  that  he  was  thinking  of  the  woolsack. 

It  was  neither  orders  nor  the  woolsack  which  dis- 
turbed him.  He  cast  both  from  him  as  dreams  and 
fancies  with  which  he  had  nothing  to  do  ;  hut  he  was 
not  the  less  miserable.  His  mind  was  in  a  state  of 
fermentation  without  light,  of  aspiration  without  any 
distinctness.  He  made  his  gun  his  excuse,  and 
wandered  for  days  in  the  woods ;  or  rather,  he  sat 
and  pondered  there  for  hours  together,  while  his 
terriers  lay  at  his  feet  and  whined  with  impatience. 
He  was  in  that  most  wretched  of  mental  conditions, 
when  the  heart  has  acquired  a  discontent  with  its 
present  lot — when  the  man  looks  on  himself  as  an  atom 
without  value  in  the  creation,  and  has  not  yet  caught 
hold  of  the  little  clue  which  is  to  guide  to  the  open 
day  of  hope  and  honourable  exertion.  Seth  Wagstaflf 
was  to  be  the  lucky  instrument  to  help  him  to  this. 


sy 


CHAPTER    III. 


THE     JUSTICE  S    CLERK. 


At  the  bottom  of  Middleton  Park  hung  a  steep  and 
rounded  slope  over  the  little  river  Erwash,  which 
went  wandering  on  with  many  windings  down  an  ex- 
tensive and  beautiful  vale.  Behind,  the  woods  came 
down  in  fine  masses,  and  with  still  opening  glades 
here  and  there  of  the  loveliest  aspect.  The  land- 
scape stretching  out  before  was  this  wide  and  extensive 
valley,  in  Avliich  the  network  of  fences  and  hedgerow- 
trees  divided  fields  of  the  richest  cultivation.  Busy 
mills  turned  their  sails  on  distant  heights,  and  villages 
lay  scattered  at  intervals  as  far  as  the  eye  could 
reach.  Up  the  vale  to  the  left  the  blue  range  of  the 
Peak  mountains  showed  themselves,  clad  in  the 
brighter  or  diirker  hues  of  the  sky,  as  the  day  might 
be,  but  always  etherial  and  beautiful.  On  the  knoll 
from  which  all  this  was  seen,  the  turf  was  short  and 
softly  elastic,  nature's  own  velvet.  .  The  fern  grew 
here  and  there,  giving  a  genuine  forest-look  to  the 
scene ;  and  when  any  one  had  been  there  some  time, 
and  perfectly  still,  numbers  of  rabbits  would  turn 
out  of  their  burrows  and  run  about — the  pheasant 
would  crow  to  his  mate — and  the  silent  hare  or  the 
noisy  woodpecker  add  their  charms  to  those  of  the 
llfeoding  wood  and  rippling  river. 

This  was  f  spot  which  had  caught  Seth  WagstafTi 
4 


88  THE    JUSTICE  S   CLERK. 

fancy  the  very  first  time  that  he  had  traversed  the 
park;  and  he  had  requested  leave  to  put  down  abencli 
there.  His  discernment  had  been  liighly  praised  by 
every  member  of  the  family  and  the  clergyman ;  and 
often  as  one  or  more  of  these  individuals  walked  in 
the  park,  did  they  diverge  to  this  lovely  spot,  and  sit 
and  enjoy  for  a  while  the  landscape.  Seth  himself 
was  a  great  frequenter  of  it,  early  and  late ;  and  more 
than  once  the  remains  of  a  pipe  seen  near  the  bench 
had  amused  them,  and  led  them  to  say,  "  See,  Seth 
has  been  here." 

It  was  a  splendid  summer  afternoon  as  Charles, 
one  day,  returning  from  the  woods  with  his  gun  on 
his  arm,  approached  this  spot.  The  rain  and  dull 
cloudy  sky  had  disappeared ;  a  still,  glowing  sunshine 
lay  over  everything.  The  w^oods,  the  earth,  every 
object,  wasfresh  with  the  late  rains:  and  fresh  odours 
rose  up  and  mingled  themselves  from  leaf  and  fern, 
from  flower  and  sward,  with  a  delicious  care-expel- 
ling efficacy.  Charles  paused  a  moment  ere  he  issued 
from  beneath  the  shade  of  the  oaken  boughs,  looked 
on  the  deep  blue  sky  above  and  the  lovely  seclusion 
before  him,  and  felt  lighter  at  heart.  At  a  second 
glance  he  beheld  ^7agstaff  seated  on  his  favourite 
bench  and  deeply  absorbed  in  a  book.  So  deeply,  in- 
deed, was  he  absorbed,  that  he  was  quite  unaware  of 
Charles's  approach  on  the  silent  turf;  and  it  was  only 
when,  standing  close  by  him,  he  said,  "  What  book 
have  you  there  so  entertaining,  Wagstaff?"  that  ho 
looked  up  and  replied  : — 


TllK    JISIICKS    CLEIIK.  39 

"  "What  book  have  I  got  ?  A  glorious  Lew  poem 
of  Rogers'.  Here,  sit  down  ;  it  is  a  treat  for  a  sum- 
mer's day,  such  as  does  not  often  come  in  one's  life; 
This  is  just  the  place  to  feel  all  its  natural  and  quiet, 
yet  high  and  stirring  beauty.  It  is  called  '  Human 
Life  ;'  but  it  is  human  life  seen  through  the  halo  of 
a  great  and  exalted  spirit.  It  reminds  one  of  sculp- 
ture, Avith  its  pure  and  elevated  and  intellectual  life  ; 
but  it  has  no  marble  coldness  about  it — it  is  full  of 
soul  and  feeling  as  the  human  heart  itself.  How  can 
people  say  that  Rogers  wants  passion  and  vigour  ? 
How  can  anything  be  so  destitute  of  rant  and  bra- 
vura^ and  yet  so  glowing  and  inspiring,  as  this  ?  It 
makes  me  glory  that  I  am  a  man  ;  that  I  have  a 
portion  in  this  human  life,  with  its  loves  and  its 
sorrows,  its  wars  and  its  strivings,  and  its  virtuous 
and  glorious  principles  ?  Hear  this  ! ''  and  Wagstaff 
begun  reading  with  all  his  heart  and  soul  passage 
after  passage,  while  Charles  Middleton  became  more 
and  more  intent,  more  and  more  wrapped  in  it ;  and 
as  Setli  sounded  out,  in  his  most  sonorous  and  impas- 
sioned manner,  the  passages  in  which  the  youth  has 
arrived  at  manhood,  and  everything  around  him  cries 
"  Aspire !"  Charles  Midileton's  eye  kindled,  and  hia 
cheeks  flushed,  and  he  exclaimed,  "  Thank  God,  I 
am  a  man  ! " 

Seth  rose  from  his  seat  with  a  glance  of  triumph 
in  his  eye,  which  he  fixed  full  on  Charles,  and,  in- 
spired to  the  abandonment  of  his  usual  quiet  manner, 
he  lifted  the  book  aloud,  and  cried,    "  Ay,  thank 


40  THE    justice's   CLERK. 

God,  thank  God,  we  are  men !  and  thank  him  ten- 
fold for  the  poet  who  stirs  God's  spirit  in  us,  and 
makes  us  feel  that  we  are  men,  and  that  it  is  a  glo- 
rious privilege  to  live  and  strive  and  overcome  !" 

Charles  seemed  to  hear  the  poet  himself  in  Seth. 
He  seized  one  side  of  the  book,  Seth  Wagstaff  kept 
firm  hold  of  the  other  ;  and  as  they  stood  thus  toge- 
ther, he  still  went  on  reading  aloud,  how  the  young 
man  fights  in  the  field,  glorious  as  the  virtuous 
patriot,  or  defends  himself  in  the  court,  still  more 
glorious,  as  the  suffering  martyr  of  the  constitution  ; 
how  the  pen  in  his  hand  becomes  the  golden  arrow 
of  liberty,  or  in  the  senate  he  breathes  word§  of 
power  and  freedom. 

At  the  latter  passage,  Middleton  let  go  his  hold  of 
the  volume  ;  a  paleness  came  over  his  face,  and  he 
exclaimed,  "  Now  I  see  it !" 

"See  what?"  said  Seth,  suddenly  pausing  and 
gazing  in  wonder  on  his  changed  expression. 

"  I  see  life  in  its  greatness  and  nobility ;  I  see  my 
own  path  ;  I  know  my  own  duty.  Away  despon- 
dency ;  away  fear.  All  is  now  light  and  bright  before 
me.  And,  Wagstaff,"  said  he,  with  a  solemn  voice 
and  full  of  emotion,  "  what  do  I  not  owe  you !" 

"  Nothing,  nothing,  do  you  owe  me,  my  dear 
Charles."  said  Seth,  forgetting  his  usual  attention  to 
the  distinction  of  ranks,  and  looking  rather  on  his 
companion  as  a  man  and  a  friend ;  "  say,  rather,  that 
you  owe  much  to  the  poet ! " 

"  To  both  !"  replied  Middleton,  as  he  gave  Seth  a 


THE    JUSTICk's   CLERK.  41 

warm  grasp  of  the  hand,  wliich  he  ardently  returned, 
and  then  the  two  silently  pursued  the  way  homewards, 

From  that  day  Seth  WagstafF  was  firmly  con- 
vinced in  his  own  mind  tliat  Charles  Middleton  had 
resolved  to  devote  himself  to  a  legal  career,  and  that 
he  should  some  day  have  to  hail  him  as  Lord  Chan- 
cellor. 

A  great  change  was  perceptible  in  the  conduct  and 
bearing  of  the  young  man.  He  was  cheerful,  but 
with  a  different  kind  of  cheerfulness  to  what  had 
been  his  wont.  He  was  cheerful  and  yet  thoughtful. 
There  was  nothing  which  would  be  mistaken  for  want 
of  health  or  spirits  about  him.  He  rode,  walked, 
enjoyed  the  society  of  his  friends,  but  through  all, 
one  train  of  thought  was  working  in  his  mind. 

It  was  not,  however,  till  some  time  afterwards, 
that  he  spoke  to  Wagstaff  on  the  subject  of  these 
thoughts,  and  in  so  doing  demolished  at  a  blow  all 
his  golden  dreams  of  the  Woolsack.  He  told  him 
he  had  now  considered  well  his  own  character  and 
duty,  and  he  had  concluded  not  to  devote  himself  to 
any  profession,  but  as  an  English  gentleman  to  advo- 
cate the  cause  of  his  country  and  countrymen,  by 
tongue  or  by  pen,  as  time  and  circumstances  should 
present  him  with  the  fitting  occasions.  He  conceived 
that  there  were  only  too  many  abuses  existing  in 
society,  which  it  became  a  worthy  man  to  expose  and 
assail,  and  that  true  fame  and  the  reward  of  an  ap- 
proving conscience  might  yet  be  amply  earned  by  a 
pen  dedicated  to  the  best  interests  of  his  countrymen. 


42  THK    JUSTICES    CLERK. 

Seth  Wag^stafF  sighed  over  the  fallen  image  of  his 
Lord  (/hancellor,  but  still  admitted  that  much  good 
and  honour  might  be  achieved  by  a  place  in  Parlia- 
ment, which  he  supposed  Mr.  Charles  in  part  alluded 
to.  (Charles  admitted  that  he  did ;  and  that  to  qua- 
lify him  for  judging  bettei*  of  the  condition  and  needs 
of  his  own  country,  he  meant,  in  the  first  place, 
to  see  a  little  of  others. 

One  of  his  most  intimate  friends  at  Oxford  had 
been  the  young  Lord  Forrester,  and  another  Sir 
Henry  Wilmot.  These  two  young  men  were  prepar- 
ing to  set  out  on  a  tour  through  France  and  Italy, 
and  Charles  immediately  requested  his  father's  per- 
mission to  join  them,  which  was  readily  granted  him. 

In  a  few  weeks  the  time  for  their  departure  had 
arrived.  Charles  took  leave  of  his  parents,  the 
rector,  and  Seth  VV'agstafF,  and  was  soon,  with  his 
young  friends,  treading,  the  shores  of  France.  These 
two  young  men  had  become  at  college  great  com- 
l^anions  of  his,  much  in  the  same  way  as  such  com- 
panionships are  usually  made.  It  was  not  that  they 
were  so  much  of  similar  dispositions,  but  because 
they  came  out  of  the  same  part  of  the  country, 
where  their  families  were  well  known  to  each  other. 
They  had  a  common  knowledge  of  the  same  persons, 
places,  and  interests.  They,  too,  were  at  that  age  when 
acquaintance  does  not  so  much  grow  out  of  a  compari- 
son of  each  other's  qualities  or  talents ;  for  in  early 
years,  those  qualities  which  may  be  considered  as  the 
great  roots  of  the  futuic,  fixed  character,  lie  ofteK 


THE  justice's  clerk.  43 

unseen,  and  often  indeed  undeveloped,  beneath  the 
more  prominent  and  general  love  of  gaiety  and 
amusement.  It  was  this  common  relish  for  the 
amusements  of  youth,  which,  with  the  local  causes 
adverted  to,  brought  these  youths  together,  among  a 
numl)er  of  others  of  equal  age  and  taste,  and  gave 
them  the  name  of  friends.  They  all  looked  on  them- 
selves and  one  another  as  young  men  of  fortune,  who 
had  no  occasion  to  bother  their  brains,  as  they  termed 
it,  with  too  much  study,  and  had  a  fund  of  perpetual 
conversation  in  their  love  of  horses,  dogs,  and  sports. 

They,  indeed,  promised  themselves  a  lifelong 
friendship  from  the  proximity  of  their  future  resi- 
dences, and  a  world  of  delight  in  the  pursuance  of 
these  pleasures.  They  believed  that  they  were  as 
great  friends  as  ever  were  recorded  in  history  or 
poetry,  while,  in  fact,  they  knew  no  more  of  one 
another's  master  passions,  which  the  pride  and  the 
interests  of  the  world  would  call  forth  in  coming  years 
with  startling  violence,  than  if  such  passions  did  not 
exist.  They  were  all  what  they  termed  hearty 
good  fellows,  and  that  was  enough  for  them. 

But,  in  reality,  both  the  habits  and  the  intellec- 
tual qualities  of  these  young  men  were  very  different. 
The  constitution  and  character  of  Charles  Middleton 
we  have  become  pretty  well  acquainted  with.  Ho 
had  powerful  passions,  quick  feelings,  a  high  tone  of 
mind,  and  abilities  capable  of  great  things.  He  had, 
from  a  real  love  of  knowledge,  while  enjuying  all  the 
relaxations  of  youth  and  society,  by  native  quick  • 


44  THE  justice's  clerk. 

ness,  and  in  all  his  private  houi-s,  made  great  use  ol 
his  college  advantages,  and  laid  up  much  intellectual 
wealth,  and  much  accomplishment.  He  must  of 
necessity  become  a  good  and  great,  or  most  miserable, 
man.  His  own  zeal  and  energy  must  diffuse  them- 
selves far  and  wide  for  the  good  of  his  fellows,  or  be 
blown,  like  flames  in  a  forest  on  fire,  back  on  him- 
self with  a  consuming  and  annihilating  strength. 

Lord  Forrester,  on  the  contrary,  had,  in  truth,  no 
originality  of  mind,  but  yet  a  great  deal  of  shrewd 
plain  sense ;  and  the  maxim  then  most  frequently  in 
his  mouth  was,  "  That  no  sense  was  like  common 
sense."  His  passions,  which  were  rather  strong  than 
violent  or  hasty,  were  always  under  the  control  of 
his  understanding,  and  his  understanding  always  led 
him  to  consider  what  became  him  as  Loi'd  Forrester, 
or  was  for,  what  he  termed,  his  real  good. 

He  was  tall ;  of  a  somewhat  large  make,  and  had 
a  handsome  face,  and  a  frank,  hearty  manner,  which 
made  everywhere  an  instant  and  very  agreeable  im- 
pression. Everybody  praised  him  as  a  young  noble- 
man who  had  no  pride  whatever ;  but  in  that  they 
were  greatly  mistaken.  He  had  great  pride  in  his 
birth  and  station,  and  in  that  splendid  earldom  which 
he  looked  forward  to  as  one  day  becoming  his  ;  but 
he  knew  too  well  that  it  became  him,  and  suited  his 
purposes,  to  seem  to  count  nothing  on  them,  though 
he  never  said  so.  If  any  one  had  studied  him  only 
a  little  closely,  they  would  have  seen  that  he  had  no 
small  share  of  ambition ;  with  all  his  frankness  and 


THE    JUSTICE  S   CLERK.  4i 

jollity,  he  always  contrived  to  be  the  head  and  leader 
of  everything.  He  was  as  cordial  to  all  the  young 
men  of  his  acquaintance,  who  were  of  much  inferior 
rank  and  expectations,  as  he  was  to  the  highest ;  but 
then  he  thus  made  these  young  men  liis  fast  allies, 
and,  in  reality,  servants;  for  they  did  at  his  sug- 
gestion all  that  ever  he  wanted  doing  or  managing  ; 
Charles  Middleton  he  really  liked  greatly,  and  very 
much  admired.  He  saw  better  "l^han  any  other  of 
their  comrades  the  talents  and  fine  tastes  in  him,  and 
what  he  was  capable  of.  He  used,  indeed,  often  to 
ridicule  Charles's  indignation  against  mean  actions, 
and  call  him  the  modern  Cato ;  or  his  purity  of  cha- 
racter, and  term  him  Scipio  the  younger ;  but,  at  the 
same  time,  he  fully  remarked  the  spontaneous  exu- 
berance of  fine  thoughts  and  feelings,  which  gushed 
from  him,  as  it  were,  on  all  sides,  like  light  from  a 
golden  lamp,  or  sunshine  through  the  clouds.  He 
looked  upon  him  as  a  genial  and  gifted  nature,  which 
gave  a  grace  to  his  friendship,  and  within  whose 
influence  it  was  pleasant  to  live.  Besides,  he  had  an 
idea  that  much  of  this  grace  and  those  ideas  might 
be  gathered  up  or  imitated,  and  a  better  observer 
than  the  youths  any  of  them  were  would  have  re- 
marked plenty  of  this. 

They  liad  in  the  city  ^  debating  society,  where 
they  discussed  a  variety  of  topics,  in  order  to  pre- 
pare themselves  for  those  senatorial  duties  which  in 
after  life  might  fall  to  their  exercise.  In  these,  Lord 
Forrester  exhibited  a  fine  style  of  declamation  ;  bul 


46  THE  justice's  clerk. 

Middleton,  a  brilliant  and  impetuous  eloquence.  In 
the  one  case  it  was  genius,  in  the  other  common- 
place ;  yet  it  was  wonderful  to  see  what  effect  Lord 
Forrester  produced  with  his  common-places,  properly 
handled,  and  by  his  cool  and  commanding  manner, 
while  Middleton  either  made  a  great  and  decided 
sensation,  or  as  decided  a  failure.  If  the  subject  did 
not  warm  and  carry  him  out  of  himself,  he* was 
nothing.  He  hesitated,  bungled,  grew  confused,  and 
sat  down.  Loi-d  Forrester  would  soon  after  tal«e  up  the 
same  topic,  and  with  the  very  sparks  and  scintillations 
which  Middleton,  in  the  very  midst  of  his  cloudiness, 
had  let  drop,  would  work  out  a  most  imposing  ha- 
rangue, and  carry  off  the  applause  of  the  audience. 

Wilmot  was  a  much  inferior,  and,  in  fact,  a  some- 
what insignificant  character.  He  was  slender  in 
figure,  with  a  handsome  face,  wore  large  and  well- 
cultivated  whiskers,  dressed  with  much  style,  was  a 
very  graceful  horseman,  and  perfectly  au  fait  in  all 
that  related  to  field-sports.  He  had  a  sort  of  instinct 
in  the  perfection  of  horses  and  dogs,  was  a  great 
admirer  of  the  ladies,  and  a  devoted  dancer.  But 
as  to  mind,  he  could  be  said  to  have  but  little  mind 
at  all  beyond  these  matters.  He  professed  to  admire 
the  classic  authors  and  the  great  poets  of  his  own 
country,  because  Forrester  and  Middleton  admired 
them,  and  he  could  talk  on  matters  of  general  litera- 
ture to  those  who  had  no  deep  acquaintance  with 
them  tolerably  well,  on  the  strength  of  the  very 
shallow   light   wliich   had   dropped  into    his   small 


THE    justice's   CLERK.  47 

mind  from  the  discussions  of  these,  his  friends.  Hig 
great  recommecdation  was  his  excessive  good  nature, 
which  consisted  in  his  being  led  about  just  where 
stronger  heads  chose  to  take  him.  He  was,  in  fact, 
the  shadoAV  and  factotum  of  Forrestei,  to  whom  he 
was  related  ;  and  "  my  friend  Forrester,"  and  "  my 
cousin  Forrester,"  were  phrases  which  he  might  be 
said  to  have  stereotyped. 

Such  were  the  companions  with  whicn  Charlea 
Middletoti  set  out  for  the  Continent.  We  shall  not 
follow  them  on  their  track  more  than  to  state  that 
they  agreed  most  admirably  on  the  whole  way.  In 
all  that  related  to  their  equipage  and  modes  of  con- 
veyance, their  comfort  at  inns,  and  their  selections 
of  lodgings  during  their  adode  in  the  different  capitals, 
"Wilmot,  wuth  his  courier,  was  most  active  and  effi- 
cient. In  all  that  related  to  the  pleasures  that  they 
were  to  partake,  and  the  great  men  of  the  day  that 
they  were  to  see,  Forrester,  with  his  heap  of  intro- 
ductory letters,  was  the  leader ;  in  all  that  had  regard 
to  the  fine  arts,  to  the  beauties  of  scenery,  to  the  archi- 
tecture and  productions  of  various  cities,  to  the  anti- 
quities and  the  manners  of  each  country,  Charles 
Middleton  was  the  director.  He  found  everywhere 
boundless  food  for  curiosity,  for  imagination,  and 
reflection.  He  came  home  with  enlarged  views  of 
the  world  in  which  he  lived,  and  with  his»poetical 
and  intellectual  tendencies  still  more  deeply  rooted, 
strengthened,  and  refined. 

But  as  to  that  insight  into  men  and  manners  whicb 


48  THE  justice's  clerk. 

travel  is  so  much  extolfed  for  imparting,  we  really 
cannot  say  that  our  friend  Charles  had  possessed 
himself  of  such  an  amount  of  that  valuable  experi- 
ence as  he  might  flatter  himself  he  had.  We  are  of 
opinion  that  the  insight  derived  from  travel  is,  in  this 
respect,  much  over-rated.  That  young  travellers 
see  great  multitudes  of  men,  and  a  great  variety  of 
curious  manners,  is  true  enough,  and  useful  enough, 
when  compared  with  what  they  see  at  home  ;  but 
that  they  see  much  farther  into  that  curious  machme, 
the  human  heart,  than  they  did  before,  is  greatly  to 
be  doubted.  They  go  as  strangers,  and  are  regarded 
as  strangers ;  they  are  received  with  politeness,  and 
shown  what  it  is  supposed  will  gratify  them,  or  give 
them  the  highest  idea  of  the  country  itself;  but  they 
are  mere  birds  of  passage,  here  to-day  and  gone  to- 
morrow, and  have  no  more  to  do  with  the  crush,  and 
crookedness  of  passion,  and  conflicting  interests,  which 
are  working  below  the  surface  of  society,  than  the 
trees  have  which  grow  at  the  foot  of  Etna  or  on  the 
tombs  of  the  CcPsars  with  what  is  lying  underneath. 
One  short  hour  in  their  own  country,  where  they 
really  come  into  the  jostle  of  human  life,  as  into  the 
vortex  of  a  whirlpool,  will  show  them  more  of  man 
and  his  real  nature  than  all  their  foreign  watchings 
and  wanderings  put  together. 

With  all  Charles  Middleton's  acquisitions  of  know- 
ledge at  home,  or  the  countries  he  had  now  for 
twelve  months  travelled  in,  he  had  yet  but  small 
experience  of  human  nature,  and  was  possessed,  as 


THE    justice's    CLERK.  49 

we  have  seen,  of  a  dispositic^  sure  to  secure  him  some 
severe  shocks  on  his  way  into  the  real  business  of  life. 

Beyond  all  this,  he  had  two  most  dangerous  pro- 
pensities; a  thorough  open-heartedness,  and  a  dis- 
position to  imagine  people  all  that  he  wished  them 
to  be,  "What  delighted  himself,  he  was  wont  to  ex- 
patiate on  with  all  the  zeal  and  energy  of  his  heart. 
He  was  anxious  that  thos  around  him  should  feel 
as  he  did;  and  to  be  in  the  vicinity  of  those  he 
called  friends,  Tvas  to  him  guarantee  enough  that  he' 
spoke  v/ith  perfect  safety.  The  experience  ofliis 
journey  might  have  taught  him  a  lesson  for  life. 

The  three  friends  were  now  hastening  homeward. 
They  were  full  of  what  they  had  heard  and  seen. 
Charles  Middletun,  especially,  was  all  enthusiasm. 
Visions  of  England  and  his  future  life  there  rose  be- 
fore him,  beautiful  as  the  snowy  summits  and  sublime 
fronts  of  the  Alps  had  shortly  before  stood  forth  iu 
the  eternal  silence  of  the  sky.  Spite  of  Hie  gaiety 
and  the  military  renown  of  France,  of  the  Elysian 
beauty  and  glorious  remains  of  art  in  Italy,  the  poli- 
tical and  moral  grandeur  of  his  native  land  grew 
magnificent  on  his  mind.  It  seemed  the  only  land 
where,  since  Greece  and  Rome  passed  away,  free  men 
could  exert  all  the  powers  of  their  nature,  and  labour 
for  the  common  good,  and  wield  interests  worthy  of 
humanity  and  immortal  minds.  He  talked  freely, 
warmly,  and  eloquently,  of  all  that  he  proposed  to 
do  and  to  aspire  to. 

Lord    Forrester  professed  to  think  with  and  to 


50  THE   JUSTICES    CLERK 

sympathize  with  him,  and  declared  that  he  would 
enter  into  a  generous  political  rivalry  with  him,  a 
rivalry  only  for  the  higher  honour,  and  worthy  of 
their  friendship.  Wilmot  smiled,  and  applauded. 
He  declared  that  it  would  always  be  the  pride  of  his 
life  tp  be  tlie  friend  of  two  men  who,  he  was  certain, 
would  so  highly  distinguish  themselves ;  but  for  him- 
self, he  looked  for  a  much  humbler,  but  hehoped.not 
less  happy,  career.  It  was  as  an  English  gentle- 
man, already  in  possession  of  his  own  fortune,  to 
marry  the  woman  of  his  heart,  and  to  pass  his  days 
in  the  enjoyment  of  all  those  active  pleasures,  and 
those  refined  and  domestic  ones,  which  English  rural 
life,  above  all  others  in  the  world,  combined  in 
itself. 

"  Bravo,  ^Vilmot !  bravo ! "  cried  Forrester,  "  a 
beautiful  and  very  attractive  little  world  you  have 
planned  for  yourself!  But  what  do  you  take  us  for? 
Are  we  t^  enjoy  none  of  these  things?  Are  we  to 
have  no  admittance  into  the  English  paradise  of 
home  and  rurality  ?  Do  you  think  we  are  dead  to  all 
the  fine  eyes  that  are  beaming,  and  all  the  dear 
amiable  hearts  that  are  beating,  in  Old  England,  be- 
cause we  love  to  dash  a  little  into  the  troubled  waters 
of  politics  ?  jVIy  good  fellow,  do  not  you  imagine, 
by  any  means,  that  you  are  going  to  be  left  alone  in 
the  possession  of  these  good  things  !  I  am  sure  our 
warm-hearted  friend  Middleton  here,  amongst  hia 
other  visions,  has  one  of  a  very  lovely  and  fascinating 
somebody  flitting  about  his  future  home :   And,  by 


THE  justice's  clerk.  61 

the  bye,  who  now  are  the  ladies  of  our  acquaintance 
that  at  present  appear  most  of  divinities  to  eauh  of 
usi" 

The  young  men  then  fell  on  the  subject  of  the 
ladies  as  zealously  as  they  had  done  on  that  of  states- 
manship. Lord  Forrester  ran  over  five  or  six  of  high 
rank,  all  of  whom  he  declared  most  glorious  creatures, 
but  protested  that  they  had  so  many  recommenda- 
tions of  one  kind  or  other,  that  it  was  quite  beyond 
his  power  to  decide  for  any  one  of  them.  This  one 
had  so  much  grace  :  that,  so  much  beauty  ;  a  third, 
so  much  sense  ;  and  a  fourth,  such  a  splendid  estate, 
that  it  was  enough  to  craze  a  mind  like  his  with 
balancing  one  thing  against  another. 

Wilmot,  as  usual,  echoed  his  lordship's  opinion, 
but  added  that  it  was  not  for  him,  a  mere  baronet, 
to  look  so  cavalierly  about  him ;  and  he  drew  a  very 
sentimental  picture  of  the  sort  of  wife  he  should  like, 
without  naming  any  one. 

Charles  Middleton,  with  his  wonted  frankness, 
warmly  vowed,  that,  spite  of  the  attractions  that 
Lord  Forrester  had  set  in  array,  there  was  the 
daughter  of  a  simple  esquire  with  whom  he  had  been, 
acquainted  about  a  year,  who  possessed  more  beauty, 
and  witli  it  more  of  the  sunny  charm  of  a  loving  and 
lively  mind  than  were  requisite  to  fill  the  home  of 
any  man,  bo  he  squire,  baronet,  or  earl,  with  a  life- 
long felicity  ! 

He  then  went  on  to  speak  of  this  lady  in  such 
leruis,  that  Wilmot  at  length  exclaimed,  *'  Egad, 


52  THE    ELECTION    OF    STOCKINGTON. 

Middleton!  yours  is  the  true  pearl,  after  all;  take 
heed  I  don't  run  away  with  her !  " 

The  conversation  was  ended  with  some  sprightly 
jokes  and  sparring  of  wits,  and  was  never  after 
renewed. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE    ELECTION    OF    STOCKINGTON. 

Scarcely  had  Charles  Middleton  reached  home 
and  embraced  his  mother,  and  shaken  hands  with  his 
old  friends,  when  Seth  WagstafF  told  him  he  was 
come  in  the  true  nick  of  time  ;  that  the  neighbouring 
borough  of  Stockington  was  vacant,  and  that  he  had 
sounded  the  leaders  of  the  Whig  party  for  him,  and 
they  were  eager  to  have  him  as  a  candidate.  He 
added,  that  his  father  was  quite  disposed  to  his  com- 
ing forward,  and  ready  to  support  liim  with  the  re- 
quisite funds.  In  fact,  the  old  gentleman  had  his 
own  portion  of  pride,  and  was  no  little  gratified  with 
the  idea  of  his  son  figuring  in  parliament. 

The  thing  startled  Charles  with  its  unexpected 
suddenness  ;  but  it  was  the  very  honour  to  which  he 
liad  resolved  to  aspire,  and  therefore,  after  a  day's 
reflection,  he  consented  to  put  himself  in  communica- 
tion with  the  electors.  He  was  informed  that  he  was 
likely  to  be  opposed  by  Sir  Thomas  Clayfield,  a  stiff, 
uncompromising  Tory,  but  a  man  of  no  character  or 
ability,  and  therefore  not  to  be  feared.     It  was  taken 


THE    ELECTION    OF    STOCKINOTON.  53 

for  granted  that  he  Mas  a  ^Vhig,  though,  for  his  part, 
ho  had  never  reflected  whether  he  was  Whig,  Tory, 
or  Radical.  All  lie  knew,  was,  that  he  was  for  the 
reform  of  all  acknowledged  abuses,  for  the  mainte- 
nance of  the  constitution,  and  the  good  of  the  people 
at  large.  "  Yes,  yes,"  said  the  agents  of  the  party, 
*'  that  is  AVhiggism,  sound  constitutional  Whiggism  \" 

On  the  great  and  leading  questions  on  which  he 
would  have  to  explain  himself,  he  was  soon  instructed 
by  Scth  ^V'agstafF,  and  found  that  they  sufficiently 
agreed  with  his  own  notions  of  right  and  truth,  to 
allow  him  conscientiously  to  stand.  His  name  was 
announced,  and  the  news  flew  like  wildfire  through  ' 
the  country.  There  was,  somehow,  a  high  idea 
abroad  of  his  talents  and  his  character,  and  the 
greatest  enthusiasm  was  manifest. 

The  handbills  he  issued,  and  the  letters  which  he 
addressed  to  the  elector?  through  the  newspapers, 
containing  his  proposal  to  represent  the  borougli  of 
Stockington,  were  greatly  admired  as  specimens  of 
manly  eloquence. 

The  important  day  of  nomination  arrived,  and  on 
the  hustings  Charles  Middleton  beheld  as  his  oppo- 
nent, not  Sir  Thomas  Clayfield,  but — Lord  Forres- 
ter !  His  astonishment  may  be  imagined  ; — at  first, 
though  it  seemed  strange  to  him,  he  thought  Lord 
Forrester  had  appeared  merely  to  nominate  Sir 
Thomas  Clavfield,  but  a  moment  cleared  away  that 
mistake,  for  Sir  Henry  Wilmot  stood  on  the  plat-i 
form,  ready  to  nominate  Lord  Forrester.     A  sicken* 


64:  THE    ELECTION    OF   STOCKIJS GTOX. 

in;T  sensation  of  treachery  and  unkindness  fell  xipon 
him ;  perhaps  the  most  miserable  feeling  of  which  th<r 
young  heart  is  capable  in  its  first  bitter  experience ; 
but  in  the  next  moment  he  followed  the  impulse  of 
his  generous  nature,  and,  advancing  to  Lord  Forrester, 
shook  him  by  the  hand,  and  said, 

"  My  dear  Lord  Forrester,  there  is  certainly  some 
mistake  here.  You  cannot  have  appeared  here  as  the 
opponent  of  your  friend,  and  that  without  warning, 
without  allowing  him  the  opportunity  to  avoid  cross- 
ing any  wish  of  yours,  or  to  withdraw  honourably 
when  he  found  he  had  done  so.  But,  my  lord,  as 
*  your  friend,  it  is  enough  for  me  to  see  that  you  aspire 
to  the  honour  of  representing  this  borough  ;  one  place 
is  like  another  to  me.  I  will  at  once  withdraw,  and 
leave  you  a  clear  field." 

"  No,  no,"  replied  Lord  Forrester,  returning  the 
grasp  of  Charles's  hand  most  cordially ;  "  you  shall 
do  no  such  thing.  There  is  no  mistake,  my  dear 
Middleton — no  mistake  at  all.  The  fact  is  this :  Sir 
Thomas  has  found  himself,  at  the  last  hour,  attacked 
with  a  fit  of  gout,  and  gives  up  all  ideas  of  the 
anxieties  of  a  contested  election,  and  all  at  once  I 
have  been  called  on  to  supply  his  place.  But  there 
shall  be  no  misunderstanding  between  us  ;  it  is  only 
a  generous  rivalry,  as  I  said  to  you  a  while  ago  a 
generous  rivalry." 

"  But  what  need  of  rivalry,  here  ?"  replied  Charles 
Middleton  ;  "  what  is  to  be  gained  ?  I  apprehend 
our  political  opinions  are  pretty  much  alike  ;    take 


THE    ELECTION    OF    STOCKINGTON.  55 

you  the  field,  I  will  seek,  another ;"  and  turning  ia 
the  gentlemen  on  the  platform,  he  began  to  say — "  1 
withdraw  my  intentions.  I  see  here  a  man — "  but 
he  was  not  permitted  to  say  more ;  the  whole  meet- 
ing had  been  thro"v\Ti  into  confusion  and  agitation  by 
this  singular  and  unexpected  scene.  The  whole 
place  was  filled  with  a  murmur  of  voices,  muttering 
eagerly  to  each  other,  "  Sir  Thomas  Clayfield  not 
here  ! "  "  'Withdrawn ! "  "  Withdrawn  in  favour  of 
Lord  Forrester !"  "  And  what  is  this?  Mr.  Middleton 
shaking  hands  with  him  !"  "  Are  we  betrayed  ?" 
cried  some :  and  "  Capital !"  cried  others ;  "  the  day  ia 
our  own — and  without  a  blow — without  a  struggle  !" 

A  momentary  silence  had  fallen  on  the  crowd 
below  as  Charles  Middleton  advanced  to  the  front, 
and  appeared  in  act  to  speak,  but  the  gentlemen  on 
the  platform  made  noise  enough  to  drown  his  words; 
and  a  dozen  springing  to  him  at  once,  exclaimed — 
"What  are  you  about?  You  wont  betray  the 
cause  !  Here  is  a  juggle  !  here  is  a  ruse  !  But  never 
mind — the  day  is  yours  !  Never  mind  this  young 
puppy  of  a  lord  !" 

"  He  is  my  friend,"  said  Charles,  in  a  strange  state 
of  wonder,  and  surrounded  by  wondering  and  eager 
faces ;  '^  he  is  no  puppy — he  is  my  friend,  and  I  did 
not  expect  this ;  and  I  withdraw  !" 

"  Withdraw  !  what,  is  it  a  scheme  to  delude  us  ? 
But  no — we  tell  you,  you  cannot  withdraw !  as  a 
man  of  honour,  you  cannot  withdraw  !" 

"  But  why  should  I  stand — tell  me  that  I     Hero's 


56  THE  ELECTION    OF    STOCKINGTON . 

my  friend,  Lord  Forrester,  whose  opinions  are,  1 
doubt  not,  like  my  own ;  he  is  an  able  man,  and  will 
serve  you  well — " 

"  Opinions  like  your  own !  Heavens !  how  you 
talk !  No  !  he  is  nothing  better  than  a  Tory ;  ou 
the  great  question  of  Parliamentary  Reform,  he  is 
a  mere  nibbler ;  and  then  his  family,  his  connexions 
— why,  they  are  all  Tory  !  " 

A  light  began  to  break  ou  Charles  Middleton 
He  began  to  feel  more  than  ever  that  he  had  been 
deceived  by  Forrester ;  and  a  feeling  of  indignation 
at  the  unworthy  treatment  forced  him  to  action. 
"  Let  us  seek  explanation  hereafter,"  said  he  to 
himself;  "  let  us  now  see  who  is  victorious!  " 

"  I  will  stand,  then,"  said  he  to  those  who  still 
surrounded  him,  and  who  were  vehemently  urging 
him  on;  and  a  shout  of  applause  burst  from  the 
platform,  followed  by  a  tumult  of  mingled  huzzas, 
groans,  and  hisses,  from  the  body  of  the  people. 

The  nomination  went  on.  Sir  Henry  "Wihiiot 
proposed  his  friend  Lord  Forrester  in  what  was 
termed,  in  the  Conservative  newspaper,  a  neat  speech 
but  which  was  one  of  the  most  wretched  little 
bits  of  bungled  attempt  at  compliment  that  ever 
was  made.  Lord  Forrester  made  a  very  clever  and 
reasonable-looking  speech ;  lamented  that  he  should 
be  found  in  opposition  to  a  friend  that  he  so  much 
loved  and  admired  ;  but  that  he  put  the  safety  of  the 
constitution,  and  the  best  interests  of  the  nation, 
before  any  private  feelings  of  his  own.     He  contrived 


THE    ELECTION    OF   STOCKINOTGN'.  57 

to  speak  so  much  in  general  of  his  intentions  to 
adrocsiUi  whatever  was  most  liberal  and  British,  that 
you  woull  have  thought  there  really  was  need  o£ 
nobody  else  beside  him. 

Charles  Middleton,  on  being  proposed,  spoke  in  a 
very  different  strain.  He  was  indignant  at  the  deceit 
which  had  been  put  upon  him,  and  he  spoke  indig- 
nantly. He  asked  ""What  faith  was  to  be  put  in  the 
professions  of  a  man  who  had  begun  by  deceiving  his 
friend  ?"  He  bade  them  not  to  trust  to  generals,  but 
to  know  really  what  specific  measures  this  candidate 
meant  to  support ;  and  he  then  stated  his  own  at 
once  so  lucidly  and  candidly,  that  almost  every  sen- 
tence was  folio wea  by  an  astounding  thunder  of 
applause. 

The  choice  of  the  candidate  was  put  to  a  show  of 
hands,  and  the  Mayor  declared  that  Mr.  Middleton 
had  the  majority.  In  fact,  he  had  nearly  all  hands. 
A  poll,  then,  was  demanded  by  the  friends  of  Lord 
Forrester,  and  the  election  was  fixed  to  commence 
the  next  morning. 

We  need  not  follow  minutely  all  the  riot,  excite- 
ment, and  tumult  of  an  election  on  the  old  system. 
i^t  first,  the  tide  was  wonderfully  in  favour  of  Mid- 
dleton ;  he  stood  fur  two  days  far  ahead  on  the  poll. 
His  eloquence  and  activity  were  the  theme  of  general 
admiration.  He  harangued  with  a  vehement  zeal, 
which  carried  his  hearers  with  him,  as  by  enchant- 
ment, and  raised  the  most  towering  expectation  of 
the  sensation  he  would  excite  in  the  house. 


58  THE  ELECTIOV    OF    STOCKINOrON. 

But  tliat  house  he  was  not  destined  to  enter.  On 
the  third  day,  the  scale  from  early  morning  begun  to 
turn,  and  mount  rapidly  for  Lord  Forrester.  It  still 
went  on,  and  the  leaders  of  the  Corporation  party 
came  in  the  evening,  full  of  consternation,  to  say  that 
bribery  was  going  on  by  Lord  Forrester  at  a  high 
rate ;  they  must  meet  it  in  the  same  way,  or  all  was 
lost.  This  was  a  new  feature  of  things  to  'Mr.  Mid- 
dleton,  and  one  which,  although  he  had  often  read  of 
with  abhorrence,  he  had  never  given  a  thought  to 
as  occurring  in  his  own  case.  He  at  once  spurned  at 
the  idea  of  it  with  contempt.  Never  would  he  him- 
self sit  in  the  Parliament  of  the  nation  to  make  laws, 
bemg  himself  stained  with  cori-^ption.  His  sup- 
porters told  him  not  to  trouble  himself,  it  should  not 
cost  him  a  farthing  ;  the  Corporation  of  Stockington 
was  rich  enough,  and  would  pay  all.  But  Charles 
Middleton  could  not  comprehend  such  logic.  He 
told  them  plainly  that  it  mattered  not  to  him  who 
paid  and  who  did  not ;  he  had  but  one  thought  on 
the  subject,  and  if  he  could  not  enter  the  house 
through  an  honest  channel,  he  would  never  enter  it. 
The  moment  he  learned  that  a  single  bribe  had  been 
paid  on  his  behalf,  he  would  instantly  withdraw. 

H  is  hearers  looked  strangely  and  blankly  at  him 
as  he  spoke  ;  his  language  was  a  new  and  an  unknown 
tongue  to  them.  Some,  no  doubt,  thought  he  was 
mad ;  but  no  one  made  a  reply,  and  the  election  went 
on.  The  scale  now  turned  again  in  his  favour,  and 
ill  his  partisans  began  to  rub  their  hands  and  wear 


THE    ELECTION    OF    STOCK INGTON'.  59 

smiling  faces.  But  in  the  evening,  when  he  went 
out  to  address  the  assembled  crowd,  he  found  a  scene 
of  the  wildest  confusion.  The  thousands  of  faces 
which  were  turned  up  in  expectation  towards  him, 
were  inflamed  with  the  fiercest  passions.  He  began 
to  express  his  indignation  at  the  base  attempt  made 
by  the  opposite  party  to  shamefully  win  tlie  election 
by  bribery.  There  was  suddenly  the  strangest  out- 
burst of  laughter,  followed  by  tremendous  hisses,  and 
the  whole  vast  throng  fell  together  into  the  most 
desperate  struggle  and  contest.  Hats  were  knocked 
off;  coats  torn  from  each  other's  backs;  numbers 
trodden  down  under  the  multitude ;  and  screams  of 
women  and  children  mingled  fearfully  in  the  hubbub 
of  terrible  sounds. 

"  Gracious  Heaven  !  "  exclaimed  Middleton,  "  is 
it  through  such  scenes  that  honourable  men  enter 
Parliament  V  A  cold  suspicion  fell  on  him  that  his 
party,  too  had  been  bribing ;  and,  turning  from  the 
hustings,  he  seized  the  arm  of  Seth  WagstafF,  who  stood 
near  him,  and  escaped  secretly  to  his  inn.  Here  he 
charged  Seth,  as  an  honest  man,  to  tell  him  at  once 
whether  he  knew  if  his  party  had  resorted  to  bribery. 
Seth  candidly  said,  that  he  knew  it  only  too  well. 

"  Then,"  said  Middleton,  "  the  election  is  at  an 
end  !  •' 

He  immediately  sat  down  and  wrote  two  notes  ; 
one  was  addressed  to  the  electors  of  Stockington, 
announcing  his  withdrawal,  and  that  simply  because 
he  was  credibly  informed  that  they  had  resorted  to 


CO  THE   ELECTION    OF  STOCKINGTON". 

bribery  on  his  behalf.  The  other  was  to  Loitl 
Forrester,  making  the  same  announcement,  but  add- 
ing a  demand,  as  he  must  still  hold  him  in  any  sense 
true  and  honourable,  of  an  explanation  of  his  cond,uct 
towards  him. 

The  first  thing  which,  on  the  following  morning, 
was  to  be  seen  all  over  the  town,  was  the  first  of  these 
letters  in  the  shape  of  a  handbill .  The  amazement  and 
consternation  which  it  occasioned  may  be  imagined. 

"  Never  was  there  such  a  madman ! "  exclaimed 
the  defeated  party.  "  Never  was  there  such  an  im- 
practicable fool !  What !  to  resign  when  he  actually 
had  the  majority  !  What  need  had  he  to  be  so  nice 
about  other  people's  money  !  ^V^hat  need  had  he  to 
pry  into  and  know  anything  about  it ! " 

In  the  meantime  Charles  Middleton  was  once 
more  at  home,  sunk  in  very  diff^erent  thoughts  and 
feelings,  and  which  left  him  no  care  as  to  what  was 
the  wrath,  or  what  were  the  opinions,  of  the  electors 
of  Stockington.  The  beautiful  'ideal  of  his  young 
and  honourable  heart,  of  the  truth  and  dignity  of 
human  nature,  was  destroyed.  At  one  rude  shock 
all  the  brilliant  fabric  of  his  faith  in  man  had  been 
tumbled  to  the  ground.  The  world,  with  all  its  cor- 
ruption, and  base  mind,  and  miserable  selfishness, 
had  burst  in  upon  him,  and  he  was  lost  in  an  agony 
of  astonishment. 

"  So,  then,"  thought  he,  "  the  moral  feeling  of 
our  country  is  become  so  deadened  and  distorted, 
that  people  are  only  amazed  that  a  man  can  be  so 


THE   ELRCTION    OP    STOCKINGTON.  61 

simple  as  to  hold  those  principles  of  truth  and 
honour  which  our  mothers  teach  us  on  their  knees, 
and  our  preachers  preach  to  us  from  that  sacred 
volume  which  is  the  law  and  the  command  of  the 
Creator.  Is  the  whole  worW,  then,  corrupt  ? — is  there 
no  one  honest  man  left  in  it  ?  The  miserable  elec- 
tors of  Stockington  may  so  long  have  traded  in  false- 
hood and  iniquity,  that  they  really  do  not  know 
what  is  honest  or  of  good  fame  ;  but  my  friend  For- 
rester, with  his  manly  understanding,  his  fortune, 
which  should  place  him  above  temptation  ;  his  edu- 
cation, which  should  make  him  spurn  it — can  he  so 
readily  abandon  faith,  and  show  himself  quick  to 
shake  hands  with  baseness,  and  to  sanction  for  his 
personal  ambition  the  vilest  practices  and  the  vilest 
people!  My  God!"  exclaimed  he,  pressing  both 
his  hands  on  his  throbbing  temples,  "  am  I  in  a 
hateful  droam?  Can  this  state  of  things  be— and  be 
in  a  great  and  Christian  country  ?  " 

Every  lionourable  mind  can  sympathize  with  him 
in  his  distress  ;  for  every  one,  in  a  greater  or  less 
degree,  according  to  the  purity  of  his  feelings  and 
pitch  of  his  moral  constitution,  has  felt  the  absolute 
anguish  of  his  first  baptism  into  a  knowledge  of  the 
actual  world,  this  first  stepping  out  of  the  sunny 
fairy-land  of  youth  into  the  dirty  highways  of  life. 
It  is  a  bitter  dispensation  ;  but,  like  all  bitters,  has  a 
bracing  and  tonic  tendency,  and  its  very  painfulnesa 
yives  durability  to  its  effect. 

We  need  not  say  that  Charles  found  in  his  mother 
6 


62  THE    ELECTION   OF    STOCKINGTON". 

a  thorough  sympathiser  and  comforter.  She  under- 
stood  his  feelings,  and  she  was  proud  of  him.  She 
embraced  him  with  tears,  and  declared,  that,  so  far 
from  regarding  him  as  having  suffered  a  defeat, 
she  looked  on  him  as  having  achieved  the  noblest 
triumph  :  he  had  realized  her  proudest  hopes  in  him. 
He  had  shown  the  whole  base  throng  how  immea- 
surably he  stood  above  them  as  a  man.  He  had 
worthily  cast  the  dust  of  his  feet  off  against  them 
and  their  doings,  and  he  would  have  the  reward  of 
God  and  his  own  conscience.  But  Lord  Forrester, 
and  that  mean  jackall  of  his — as,  in  her  indignant 
family  temperament  she  went  on  to  style, Wilmot — 
"  she  had  not  words  to  express  her  contempt  of 
him  ?  " 

But  what  pleased  Charles  still  more,  and  in  some 
degree  surprised  him,  was  to  find  that  his  father 
most  warmly  approved  of  his  conduct.  He  was 
afraid  thai  the  old  gentleman's  ambition  might  have 
suffered  a  disappointment,  and  that  he  might  have 
blamed  him  for  rashly  throwing  up  a  brilliant  oppor- 
tunity, so  evidently  his  own,  of  entering  Parliament ; 
but  he  at  once  declared  that  he  entirely  approved  of 
his  conduct,  and  was  proud  of  it. 

"  Things,"  said  he,  "  have  come  to  that  pass,  that 
they  demand  the  fullest  exposure  and  reprehension, 
and  he  was  proud  that  his  son  had  been  the  first  to 
read  them  a  lesson  on  the  subject." 

This  was  a  real  cordial  to  Charles's  mind.  The 
old  rector,  too,  shook  him  by  the  hand  wifli  a  zeal 


THE    ELECTION   OK     STOCRINGTON.  GS 

Avliich  had  something  so  fatherly  and  affectionate  la 
it,  that  it  brought  tears  into  Charles's  eyes ;  and  he 
might  have  seen  them  stand,  too,  in  the  old  man's 
as  he  said,  "  My  dear  young  friend,  you  have  preached 
to  the  Avhole  country  such  a  sermon  as  has  seldom 
been  heard  from  the  pulpit,  and  that,  trust  me,  will 
not  be  lost.  But  don't  be  cast  down  about  it  ?  If 
you  had  but  studied  mathematics  a  little  more,  you 
would  have  learned  to  calculate  on  these  chances, 
and  then  they  would  have  fallen  easier  ! " 

Seth  W^'agstaff,  too,  highly  applauded  his  high 
sense  of  integrity,  and  yet  added,  "  Could  you,  my 
dear  sir,  only  have  held  your  head  as  high  as  your 
mind  is,  and  not  have  looked  down  on  what  the 
electors  were  doing  below,  you  might  have  entered 
the  House  of  Commons  without  having  had  person- 
ally anything  to  do  with  the  bribery  that  went  on." 

"  AVhat !  "  exclaimed  Charles,  "  Can  you,  Seth, 
advocate  such  doctrine?  Shall-I  do  evil  that  good 
may  come  of  it  ?  Then  is  the  Bible  a  farce,  and 
the  door  of  every  species  of  crooked  policy  set  open 
to  the  cunning  and  hypocritical." 

A  flush  appeared  on  the  cheek  of  Wagstaff,  an 
acknowledgment  that  he  felt  himself  justly  reproved, 
and  with  a  quiet  tone  he  said,  "  You  are  right.  A 
man  cannot  touch  pitch  but  some  will  stick  to  him. 
I  begin  to  see  that  things  are  come  to  that  pass,  that 
nothing  but  a  thorough  reform  of  Parliament  will 
Berve.  At  all  events,  I  can  see  plainly  that  you  now 
cannot  submit  to  get  there  by  the  only  means  that  aro 


04  THE   ELECTION   OP    STOCKINGTON. 

left  open,  and  1  wish  you  had  but  turned  youi  attea- 
tion  to  the  law." 

Middleton  smiled :  it  was  the  first  time  since  hii 
return  from  Stockington ;  but  when  he  saw  how  these 
worthy  men  clung  each  to  his  hobby,  he  said  to  him- 
self, "  Every  man  sets  up  for  himself  an  idol  of  per- 
fection, and  there  seem  to  be  few  who  are  lucky 
enough  not  to  find  it  rudely  overturned  by  others; 
why  should  these  good  men  be  disappointed  in  their 
hobbies,  and  I  not  in  mine  1  '* 

He  began  even  to  imagine  some  excuse  for  Lord 
Forrester :  "  He  is  young,"  said  he,  "  and  has  evi- 
dently great  ambition.  This  may  have  proved  too 
seductive  to  him,  but  he  might  have  been  more  open 
with  me."  He  could  not  all  at  once  give  up  his  faith 
in  his  friendship,  and  he  sat  down  and  \\-rote  to  him, 
blaming  him  for  suffering  any  temptation  or  any 
circumstances  to  divert  him  from  that  candour  which 
he  would  have  experienced  from  himself. 

A  very  few  days  brought  over  a  servant  expressly 
with  this  reply : 

"My  dear  Middleton, 

"I  am  not  at  all  surprised  that  you  feel  keenly  my 
appearance  against  you,  or  rather  suffering  you  to 
appear  against  me,  under  such  circumstances ;  but, 
I  assure  you,  that,  so  far  fromconsidering  it  a  breach 
of  friendship,  or  an  insult,  you  ought  rather  to  con- 
eider  it  as  a  great  compliment. 

"Now  all  is  over,  I  will  tell  you  candidly  that  my 
family  have  long  been  looking  forward  to  my  repre- 


THE    ELECTION    OF    STOCKIXG  TON.  65 

Renting  this  borough,  in  -which  neighbourhood  it  has 
80  much  property,  and  had  I  known  that  you  would 
have  offered  yourself  at  this  time  for  it,  I  should 
certainly  have  told  you,  because  I  know  you  would 
readily  have  yielded  the  field  to  me.  But  I  may 
now  let  you  know  that  the  announcement  of  Sir 
Thomas  Clayfield's  intention  to  stand  was  merely  a 
clever  ruse  of  my  family's  to  cover  their  scheme  of 
bringing  forward  myself,  till  they  saw  who  the 
whiggish  Stockingtonians  would  bring  forward  on 
their  part.  The  moment  I  arrived  at  home,  I  found 
all  this  settled,  and  really  thought  it  a  very  clever 
scheme.  Sir  Thomas  was  not  likely  to  be  a  very 
formidable  opponent  to  anybody,  and  this  was  there- 
fore well  calculated  to  infuse  security  into  the  enemy's 
camp.  I  do  own  that  when  I  found  that  you  actually 
were  coming  forward,  it  gave  me  a  kind  of  shock, 
and  could  1  have  let  you  into  the  secret,  I  would,  but 
my  family  would  not  consent  on  any  terms.  '  It  is 
the  luckiest  thing  in  the  world,'  they  said.  '  Your 
friend,  Middleton,  is  a  fine,  spirited  fellow,  who  might 
be  extremely  dangerous  if  he  were  not  a  very  Roman 
in  his  notions  of  virtue,  hon(fUr,  and  all  that ;  but  as 
this  is  his  first  brush,  you'll  see  he  will  kick  down 
all  the  dirty  machinery  of  the  Stockington  electors, 
and  fling  their  representations  in  their  faces.  If  you 
let  him  know,  he  inevitably  backs  out,  and  in  will 
come  some  old  stager,  wlio  will  'go  the  whole  hog'  with 
them,  as  your  friends,  tlie  Americans,  would  say ;  and 
you  are  then  done  foi-,  with  a  pretty  sum  to  booi! " 


C6  THE    ELECTION    OF    STOCKINGTO*^. 

"Here,  my  dear  Middleton,  you  have  the  fact.  I 
could  not  but  admire  the  address  of  my  family.  I  have 
been  weak  enough,  or  man  of  the  world  enough,  to 
yield  my  judgment  to  theirs,  and  the  rest  you  know. 
I  assure  you  there  is  no  man  who  honours  your 
heart,  your  understanding,  and  your  conduct,  more 
than  I  do,  (and,  by  the  bye,  you  have  won  more 
golden  opinions  by  these  things  than  you  are  aware 
of — all  the  ladies  are  clamorous  in  your  praise,)  but 
I  do  confess,  and  I  say  it  as  a  friend,  that  if  one  will 
not  take  the  world  as  one  finds  it,  I  do  not  see  how 
one  is  ever  to  become  of  any  use  in  it.  I  know  that 
you  will  begin  to  talk  to  me  of  Greece  and  Rome, 
Aristides  and  Socrates,  Cato  and  the  Gracchi;  but  let 
me  remind  you  that  if  Greece  and  Rome  had  been 
wholly  as  virtuous  as  you  think  we  ought  to  be,  these 
very  men  had  been  no  wonders,  and  we  should  never 
have  heard  of  their  names.  It  was  because  the  mass 
even  of  these  great  and  glorious  states  were  but  in- 
different fellows  after  all,  that  these  patriots  stood 
out  in  such  immortal  grandeur.  I  must,  however, 
freely  confess  that  I  am  not  presumptuous  enough 
to  compare  mj'self  prospectively  with  such  perfect 
models  of  humanity ;  I  do  not  feci  any  spirit  of 
martyrdom  in  me,  and  shall  prefer  winding  my  way 
as  decently  as  I  can  through  life,  to  driving  a-head 
against  rough  and  smooth,  and  taking  all  the  kicks 
and  cuffs  of  every  scoundrel  upon  whose  toe  I  tread, 
which  your  honest  and  impracticable  man  always  gets 
for  his  pains. 


A   DUEL    AND    A   VOyAGE,    ETC.  67 

"If,  however,  my  dear  Middleton,  you  are  deter- 
mined to  persevere  in  that  heroic  but  barren  and 
thankless  path,  I  can  only  say  that  I  shall  ever 
honour  but  never  shall  follow  you,  though  I  shall  still 
remain,  your  constant  friend  and  faithful  servant, 

"  Forrester. 

'*  P.S.— If  I  thought  you  would  bend  a  little,  I 
would  answer  to  helping  you  to  a  seat  in  the  House 
before  many  months  are  over;  but  I  do  not  expect 
such  a  thing.  By  the  bye,  what  is  Wilmot  doing  so 
much  at  Mr.  Thornhill's?  Is  he  really  looking  after 
hella  donna  ?  I  have  taxed  him  with  it,  and  shall 
think  it  very  mean  if  it  rtilly  be  so — but  again  I  warn 
you — men  are  but  men,  and  are  made  but  of  poor 
stuff,  and  if  you  set  temptations  in  their  way  they  will 
after  all  snatch  at  them.  If  you  have  really  any 
serious  views  in  that  quarter,  however,  be  alive  oi 
blame  only  yourself." 


CHAPTER  V. 

A    DUEL    AND    A    VOYAGE    TO    AMERICA 

As  Charles  Middleton  read  this  letter,  he  said, 
''  This  is  candid,  I  now  understand  Fon-ester.  He 
is  professedly  a  man  of  the  world,  and  I  shall  expect 
from  him  nothing  higher  than  he  gives  himself  out 
for — but  what  is  this  ?  "V^ilmot !" 

He  read  the  postscript  with  the  feeling  as  if  he 


68  A    DUEL   AND    A 

had  been  stiiick  a  heavy  blow,  or  afi  if  a  dagger  had 
actually  pierced  his  heart ;  for  awhile  he  closed  his 
eyes,  flung  the  letter  from  him,  and,  leaning  his 
head  on  his  hand,  sat  apparently  more  like  a  statue 
than  a  living  creature ;  but  his  whole  mind  was  in 
such  a  stupor  and  yet  whirl  of  passion,  as  is  but  the 
next  degree  to  madness. 

"  This  is  too  much,"  said  he  at  length,  starting 
up,  pale  as  death,  "  the  villain  ! — the  low,  sneaking, 
contemptible  villain.  This  is  worse  than  all — and 
this  is  a  man  whom  I  have  deigned  to  call  friend ! 
FoiTester  is  honest,  for  a  man  of  his  notions,  but 
thisvcrouching  hound  who  at  one  moment  licks  and 
bites  one's  hand — this  is  too  much  !" 

The  communication  on  their  way  from  Italy, 
flashed  to  his  mind ;  he  saw  that,  in  both  instances, 
as  to  his  views  of  life,  and  to  the  very  inclinations 
of  his  heart,  he  had,  while  he  deemed  himself 
speaking  only  in  the  sacred  confidence  of  friendship, 
been  shamefully  betrayed. 

"  Is  there,  then,"  said  he,  "  no  such  thing  as 
faith  and  friendship  ?  Shall  a  man  find  no  heart  on 
which  to  rely  ?" 

They  only  can  conceive  the  exquisite  anguish  of 
his  mind  who  have  possessed  a  mind  as  pure  and 
unsuspicious,  and  felt  its  dearest  hopes  and  con- 
fidences thus  rudely  shaken.  It  is  true  that  he  had 
made  no  formal  proposals  to  the  young  lady  in  ques- 
tion, but  he  believed  that  they  perfectly  understood 
each  other:    and  had  it  not  been  for  his  invmediate 


VOVAGK    rO    AMERICA.  69 

entanglement  in  the  affairs  of  the  election,  he  would 
have  immediately  flown  to  her  and  made  her  an 
offer  of  his  hand. 

The  young  lady  was  truly  a  lovely  and  amiable 
person,  not  more  than  nineteen,  full  of  life  and 
vivacity,  but  of  that  soft  and  gentle  nature  which 
at  such  an  age  is  easily  swayed  one  way  or  another. 
Charles  Middleton  had  entered  into  all  her  tastes 
for  flowers,  for  the  country,  for  music  and  poetrj", 
and  in  their  many  walks  around  her  father's  estate 
had  seen  witli  admiration  how  her  eye  had  kindled 
and  her  whole  soul  had  responded  to  his  delight  in 
the  fine  scenery  and  his  discourse  on  poets  and  lite- 
rature. His  warm  heart  and  glowing  imagination 
had  speedily  surrounded  her  with  all  the  charms  and 
fascinations  which  a  young  heart  so  readily  confers. 

There  was  an  enchantment  to  him  in  her  very 
name,  and  through  the  whole  of  his  continental  tour 
his  fancy  had  reverted  to  her  in  her  beauty  and 
goodness,  casting  sunshine,  as  it  were,  through  her 
father's  hall ;  and  many  a  day-dream  had  he  indulged 
of  the  future  in  his  own,  where  she  should  constitute 
the  glory  and  happiness  of  his  existence. 

And  could  he  have  deceived  himself  in  her  character 
too  ?  Could  she  really  so  soon  forget  him,  and  conde- 
scend to  such  a  creeping  thing  as  this  Wilmot  ? 

How  far  he  had  deceived  himself  in  elevating  her, 

in  his  entimsiastic    mind,  beyond  her   real  value; 

how  far  Wilmot  might  have  succeeded  in  convincing 

her  tliat  Ciiarles  had  no  serious  intentions  regarding 

5 


70  A    DUEL    AND     A 

Tier;  how  far  he  might  really  have  rendered  himself 
agi-eeable  by  using  at  second-hand  the  sentiments 
and  language  of  his  more  gifted  friend ;  how  far, 
under  these  circumstances,  she  might  have  yielded  a 
reluctant  or  unreluctant  consent;  or  how  far  the 
influence  of  her  family  or  the  brilliant  fortune  of 
Sir  Henry  might  have  weighed  with  her,  we  do  not 
pretend  to  know ;  what  we  do  know  is,  that  Mid- 
dleton  himself,  smarting  thus  under  accumulated 
wounds,  sat  down,  and  in  the  fire  of  the  moment 
wrote  thus'  to  Wilmot : — 

"  Middleton,  Sept.  3d,  18—. 

"  Sir, — A  few  lines  in  a  letter  from  Lord  Forrester 
bid  me  beware  of  your  possible  proceedings  in  the 
family  of  Mr.  Thornhill.  As  I,  believing  I  was 
only  in  the  company  of  men  of  honour,  and  of  sure 
friends,  weakly  perhaps,  but  in  full  faith  in  you, 
avowed  my  sentiments  towards  Miss  Thornhill,  I 
ask  you  now,  point  blank  whether,  knowing  this, 
you  have  taken  any  steps  to  win  the  affections  of 
Miss  Thornhill ;  whether  any  formal  matrimonial 
negociation  has  taken  place  between  you  ? 

"  I  demand  a  positive  and  true  answer,  and  I  tell 
you,  that  if  you  answer  in  the  affirmative,  that  you 
do  inot  deserve  the  name  of  man,  much  less  of  a 
friend  or  a  gentleman,  but  that  you  are  a  villain  of 
the  most  contemptible  stamp. 

"  Yours,  as  you  shall  prove  yourself, 

'"  Charles  Middleton." 


VOYAGE    TO   AMERICA.  71 

To  this,  which  was  immediately  despatched,  the 
aext  morning  brought  him  the  following  : — 

"  Dale  Park,  Sept.  Mh,  18 — . 

^*  Sir, — Had  the  tone  of  your  note  been  different, 
1  might  have  entered  into  explanations  that  might 
or  ought  to  have  sufficiently  excused  myself ;  but 
as  I  see  that  you  are  not  in  a  temper  to  hear  any 
reason  whatever,  I  shall  content  myself  with  stating 
only  facts,  and  those  such  only  as  you  demand. 

"  I  have  sought  to  win  the  affections  of  Miss 
Thornhill,  and  that  through  your  own  glowing 
representations.  I  could  not  learn  that  anything 
very  definite  had  passed  between  you,  and  I  conceive 
that  ladies,  as  well  as  seats  in  Parliament,  are  mat- 
ters of  fair  rivalry.  However,  I  am  happy  to  say 
that  my  position  with  Miss  Thornhill  is  quite  secure, 
and  that  however  you  may  speak  of  me,  I  shall,  I 
hope,  have  to  thank  you  for  pointing  me  out  a  good 
wife. 

"  If  1  might  give  a  hint  to  a  person  so  infinitely 
my  superior  in  talent,  I  would  say,  that  if  you  do 
not  mean  your  purse  to  be  picked  up,  you  must  not 
fling  it  into  the  high- way;  and  that  an  ounce  oi 
prevention  is  worth  a  pound  of  repentance. 

"  For  the  rest,  I  am  bound  to  demand  satisfaction 
for  the  injurious  terms  you  apply  to  me,  and  await 
your  answer. 

''''  Your  obedient  servant, 

"  Henry  Wilmot." 


72  A    DUEL     AND    A 

It  is  much  easier  to  conceive  than  to  describe  the 
sensations  of  Middleton  in  the  perusal  of  this  letter. 
The  cold  sneering  tone,  the  assumption  of  advice 
in  a  persoy  of  such  a  calibre,  and  the  cool  avowal  of 
his  villanj^,  without  betraying  the  least  conscious- 
ness that  he  was  a  villain,— these,  with  the  fact  that 
he  was  deceived  in  every  respect,  as  much  by  her 
whom  he  had  deemed  little  less  than  divine,  as  by 
this  base  man,  and  that  he  had  contributed  by  his 
own  simple  openness  to  his  own  deception,  drove  him 
almost  to  distraction.  He  despised  himself  for  ever 
having  given  the  proud  name  of  friend  to  such  a 
man.  He  half  resolved  not  to  fight  with  him,  but 
to  avow,  as  was  his  real  opinion,  that  fighting  was 
the  most  irrational  mode  of  settling  a  quarrel ;  but 
in  the  certainty  that  in  a  first  instance  such  a  course 
would  be  branded  as  cowardice,  he  hastily  accepted 
the  challenge,  and  determined  to  put  Lord  Forrester  s 
honesty  to  the  test,  by  requesting  him  to  become  his 
second.  He  found,  however,  to  his  increased  mor- 
tification, that  here  again  Wilmot  had  been  before- 
hand with  him,  and  secured  him. 

Selecting  therefore  another  second,  and  time  and 
place  being  settled,  he  proceeded  on  the  third  moming 
to  the  appointed  spot.  It  was  on  a  solitary  heath, 
lying  midway  between  the  residence  of  Lord  For- 
rester and  his  own.  The  ground  was  marked  out  in 
silence,  and  without  a  word  passing  between  any  of 
tlie  parties  the  signal  was  given,  and  both  pistols  were 
fired  into  the  air.    It  appeared  like  the  result  of  pre- 


VOYAGE     TO    AMERICA,  73 

fious  agreement,  but  in  truth  Lord  Forrester  had 
persuaded  Wilmot  to  do  this,  on  his  part,  and  jNIid- 
dleton  had  never  intended  to  do  otherwise.  lie  had 
long  ago  made  up  his  mind  never  to  aim  at  the  life 
of  a  fellow  being,  however  he  might  be  induced  to 
risk  his  own,  in  compliance  with  what  he  deemed  the 
absurd  and  worse  than  absurd  laws  of  modern  honour. 
Wilmot  declared  himself  satisfied ;  the  antagonists 
shook  hands  in  the  usual  manner,  and  then  Middleton 
said,  "  Gentlemen,  allow  me  now  to  say  that  I  deem 
all  this  ridiculous  nonsense,  if  it  be  not  deserving  of 
a  much  worse  name.  I  have  conformed  to  what  you. 
call  the  laws  of  honour,  for  no  man  shall  be  able  to 
charge  me  with  cowardice,  and  Sir  Henry  Wilmot 
declares  himself  satisfied.  But  can  any  of  you  tell 
me  in  v/hat  respect  the  firing  of  these  pistols  has  in 
the  minutest  degree  altered  or  determined  the  merits 
of  the  question  ?  I  take  therefore  this  opportunity 
to  announce  in  your  presence,  that  this  is  the  first  and 
the  last  time  that  I  will  ever  resort  to  fire-arms  for 
the  adjustment  of  a  question  which  ought  to  be  decided 
by  reason.  It  is  high  time  that  men  of  education 
should  decide  their  disputes  by  their  heads,  and  not 
like  barbarians,  by  their  hands.  If  any  one  supposes 
I  have  given  him  just  offence,  or  done  him  actual 
injury,  I  am  at  all  times  ready  to  submit  the  case  to 
the  arbitration  of  a  number  of  sensible  and  disin- 
terested men.  If  I  feel  myself  injured  or  insulted,  I 
will  offer  to  my  opponent  the  same  mode  of  decision ; 
and  if  he  refuse  it,  1  will  hold  him  as  a  man  of  no 
7 


74  A    DUEL    AND     A 

honour,  and  every  worthy  man  must  regard  him  in 
the  same  light.  But  to  risk  my  life,  or  the  life  of 
my  enemy  to  no  rational  end,  is  only  making  had 
worse,  and  is  against  my  understanding  as  a  civilized 
being,  and  my  conscience  as  a  Christian." 

A  few  days  afterwards  Lord  Forrester  rode  over  to 
call  on  C'harles  Middleton,  and  though  the  old  gentle- 
man received  him  with  a  stately  and  cold  dignity, 
and  Mrs.  Middleton,  with  her  accustomed  warmth  and 
frankness,  told  him  plainly  that  she  could  not  regard 
his  conduct  in  the  matter  of  the  election  (of  the  duel 
she  knew  nothing)  as  at  all  in  accordance  with  his 
professions  of  friendship  for  her  son,  he  took  all  in 
very  good  part,  mollified  Mrs.  Middleton  a  good  deal 
with  saying  that  he  did  not  pretend  at  all  to  place 
himself  in  comparison  with  her  son,  either  for  talent 
or  high  tone  of  mind ;  and  was  treated  by  Charles 
with  a  generous  forgiveness  that  made  an  evident 
impression  on  him.  Lord  Forrester  said,  but  pri- 
vately to  him,  that  he  could  not  help  coming  to  say, 
that  he  had  expressed  to  Sir  Henry  Wilmot  his  total 
disapproval  of  his  conduct,  and  had  Charles's  letter 
reached  him  in  time,  should  certainly  have  stood  as 
his  second ;  but  that  he  was  glad  it  had  not  so  hap- 
pened, for  it  had  enabled  him  to  induce  Sir  Henry  to 
show  some  sense  of  the  wrong  he  had  done  by  firing 
in  the  air.  He  endeavoured,  at  the  same  time,  to 
excuse  Wilmot  in  some  degree  by  weakness  rathei 
than  badness  of  character,  and  trusted  Middleton 
would  not  think   too   nmch  of  it:  for   that,  a&  to 


VOYAGE     TO    AMERICA.  75 

ladies,  lie  had  only  to  look  ahout  and  choose  ;  and 
that  his  behaviour,  both  in  the  afEair  of  the  election 
and  of  the  duel,  however  people  might  differ  from  him 
in  opinion,  had  raised  him  very  high  in  the  general 
opinion  as  a  bold  and  able  man,  who  dared  to  defy 
public  notions  and  customs,  however  fixed,  if  they 
opposed  his  own  conceptions  of  right  and  honour. 

This  behaviour,  and  the  sentiments  of  Lord  For- 
rester, tended  not  a  little  to  mollify  and  sooth 
Charles's  exasperated  state  of  mind ;  but  the  charm 
of  existence  was  not  so  soon  recalled.  He  had  suf- 
fered too  violent  a  shaking  of  all  his  youthful  fancies, 
hopes,  and  feelings,  and  ideas  of  men  and  things,  to 
be  soon  himself  again.  There  was  a  coldness  and  a 
desolation  in  his  feelings;  a  gloom  and  a  solitude  in 
all  about  him  that  made  life  a  burden  to  him. 

Neither  the  conversation  of  Seth  Wagstaff  nor  the 
clergyman  could  interest  him,  nor  his  gun  afford  him 
his  wonted  excitement.  He  was  spiritless  and  de- 
pressed, and  yet  far  too  proud  to  wish  that  any  one 
should  notice  it. 

Under  these  circumstances,  he  again  turned  his 
mind  to  travel,  and  particularly  to  an  old  fancy  of 
his,  a  voyage  to  America. 

When  he  was  about  sixteen,  his  father  had  purchased 
a  book,  which  became  for  a  long  time  the  favourite 
reading  and  favourite  theme  of  the  old  gentleman,  and 
from  this  cause  Charles  also  had  been  induced  to  look 
into  it,  and  before  long  became  equally  enchanted  with 
It.     This  was  "VVinterbotham's History  of  America. 


76  A   DUEL    AND   A 

Winterbotham  was  the  Pastor  of  a  Baptist  church 
at  Devonport,  who,  in  the  year  1792,  having 
preached  two  sermons  in  favor  of  religious  and  civil 
liberty,  was  indicted  for  sedition,  tried,  and  con- 
demned to  imprisonment  for  four  years  in  Newgate. 
During  his  confinement,  he  compiled  a  History  of 
the  United  States  of  America.  Being  an  authentic 
work,  partly  from  the  novelty  of  the  subject,  and 
from  sympathy  for  the  author's  unmerited  punish- 
ment, combined  with  his  superior  acquirements  and 
unimpeachable  character,  as  a  sincere,  inoffensive 
Christian,  the  four  volumes  were  issued  with  great 
advantage  to  the  prisoner,  as  it  provided  for  himself 
and  his  family  a  comfortable  support  during  his 
protracted  exclusion  from  his  pastoral  functions. 
After  the  term  of  his  incarceration  in  Newgate  ex- 
pired, he  resumed  his  charge ;  and  during  several 
years  he  there  fulfilled  his  official  duties.  He  used 
to  dilate  upon  Psalm  xci.  with  peculiar  pathos ;  the 
consolatory  truths  of  which  his  own  memorable  ex- 
perience had  illustrated  and  confirmed.  The  perse- 
cution of  Winterbotham  was  a  great  political  error. 
From  the  cell  of  his  prison  he  roused  a  far  wider  spirit 
of  political  freedom  than  he  ever  could  have  done  at 
large,  and  his  work  sent  more  emigrants  across  the 
Atlantic  than  any  other  individual  cause  whatever. 

Young  Middleton  was  not  less  bewitched  with  Us 
perusal  than  thousarfds  of  others.  The  charms  of  those 
new  countries;  the  solemn  grandeur  of  those  primeval 
forests;  those  singular,  and  in  many  respects, noUc 


VOYAGE  TO    AMERICA.  77 

Indian  tribes  wandering  there ;  the  chase  of  the  bear 
the  buffalo,  and  the  deer;  the  idea  of  possessing  a 
whole  territory,  where  you  could  collect  around  you 
those  whom  you  most  loved  and  honoured,  or  wished 
to  assist  and  see  flourish ; — there  was  something  so 
entrancing  in  all  this,  that,  seeing  his  father's  delight 
in  the  book,  he  even  begged  him  to  sell  all  that  he 
had,  to  go  over  and  p.urchase  a  mighty  tract  of  country. 
The  old  gentleman,  however,  had  no  such  romantic 
thoughts,  and  only  smiled  at  his  son's  enthusiasm.  . 

But  the  beautiful  imagination  of  this  Transatlantic 
Elysium  fixed  in  his  brain  at  this  romantic  period  of 
life,  had  still  remained  there  in  unfading  colours. 
Often  had  he  built  charming  castles  in  the  air,  or, 
rather,  in  America,  where  he  possessed  his  great  sylvan 
territory  like  another  Lord  Fairfax;  was  as  great  patron 
of  the  poor  emigrants  and  the  Indians;  s})read  around 
him  prosperity  and  happiness ;  and  cleared  fields  and 
made  maple-sugar  at  home,  or  hunted  with  a  lordly 
train,  pitching  their  tents  in  the  valleys  of  the  Alle- 
ghany hills,  or  on  the  shores  of  Lake  Erie  or  Ontario, 

Since  his  recent  experience  of  the  state  of  things 
and  political  morals  hete,  these  dreams  had  come 
back  upon  him  with  renewed  force.  He  called  to 
mind  the  fine  moral  principle  and  single  rectitude 
which  had  been  displayed  by  the  champions  of  tho 
revolution  and  the  framers  of  the  republican  constitu- 
tion, comparing  these  things  and  the  want  of  them 
in  the  bloody  revolution  of  France.  He  had  a  great 
desire  to  tread  the  laud  where  the  Christian  states* 


78  A    DUEL    AND    A 

mansliip  of  William  Penn,  the  disinterested  heroism 
of  AV^ashington,  and  the  shrewd  social  philosophy  ol 
Franklin,  had  displayed  themselves  in  such  splendid 
results.  He  even  cherished  the  fond  hope  that  there, 
still,  a  standard  of  pure  integrity  and  uncorrupted 
political  principle  might  he  found,  which  would  do  his 
heart  good  to  contemplate.  At  all  events  it  would 
tend  to  dissipate  the  weight  of  wretchedness  which 
lay  on  his  mind.  He  requested,  therefore,  hia 
father's  permission,  which  was  gladly  granted  to  him, 
and  prepared  to  set  out.  The  old  gentleman,  indeed, 
the  more  the  project  was  made  palpable  to  his  own 
thoughts,  seemed  to  take  an  ever  livelier  interest  in  it. 
He  put  down  a  number  of  particulars  which  had 
occurred  to  him  from  the  recollection  of  his  reading, 
on  which  he  suddenly  found  himself  extremely  de- 
sirous of  being  satisfied,  and  enjoined  his  son  to  attend 
to  these,  and  to  be  able  in  his  letters  or  on  his  return 
to  satisfy  him  most  entirely.  Especially  was  he  to 
observe  how  the  republican  principle  seemed  to  work ; 
whether  there  was  really  a  gentry  there  ;  and  whe- 
ther the  magistracy  was  conducted  with  as  much  dig- 
nity and  decorum  as  in  this  country. 

In  a  few  weeks  Charles  had  all  in  readiness,  and 
after  many  tears  and  embraces  from  his  mother,  he 
set  out,  taking  one  servant  with  him. 

And,  irj  truth,  nothing  could  have  exerted  a  more 
beneficial  influence  on  his  mind  than  this  American 
expedition.  The  novelty  of  the  voyage  and  of  tha 
scenes  which  met  him  on  landing,  quickly  dissipated 


VOVAGE    TO    AMERICA.  79 

that  cheeiless  and  despondent  feeling  which  lay  sc 
miserably  upon  him  at  home.  He  seemed  to  breathe 
again  new  life  and  youth.  The  great  and  busy  cities 
into  which  he  first  entered  charmed  him  with  a  feel- 
ing of  the  mighty  progress  which  civilized  life  had 
made  in  even  so  comparatively  sliort  a  period  here. 
The  many  kind  and  amiable  families  to  whom  his 
letters  introduced  him,  and  who  not  only  zealously 
Bought  to  make  him  acquainted  with  everything 
worthy  of  his  notice,  but  also  furnished  him  with 
introductions  to  agreeable  and  influential  people  in  all 
parts  of  the  Union,  tended  not  a  little  to  restore  his 
favourable  opinion  of  human  nature. 

In  New  York  he  met  with  some  young  country- 
men, who  were  about  to  make  a  similar  tour  of 
pleasure  and  observation  through  the  States,  and  with 
them,  in  the  buoyant  spirits  which  young  minds  com- 
municate to  each  other,  ascended  the  Hudson,  ex- 
tended his  progress  northward  as  far  as  Quebec,  and 
with  his  lively  associates  not  only  stood  on  the  spot  of 
"Wolfe's  victory  and  death,  but  afterwards  visited  all 
those  scenes  on  the  borders  of  the  St.  Lawrence  and 
the  lakes  where  the  British  and  American  forces  had 
contended  in  the  earlier  period  of  tlie  war  with  such 
desperate  valour:  Fort  Detroit,  Fort  Ticonderago, 
Crown  Point,  Saratoga,  on  the  Hudson,  the  melan- 
choly scene  of  General  Burgoyne's  surrender,  and  the 
scene  of  poor  Andres  capture  and  execution,  all 
deeply  interested  him.  He  afterwards  traced,  with 
his  gay  friends,  sou  thward,  almost  every  location  of  great 


80  A    DUEL    AXD    A 

note  in  the  war  from  Bunker's  Hill  and  Lexington,  on 
the  Delaware,  the  Schuylkill,  the  Chesapeake,  and 
other  scenes,  to  Charlestown  in  Carolina,  and  York 
Town  in  Virginia,  where  the  grand  termination  was 
put  to  the  war  by  the  surrender  of  Lord  Cornwallis- 

It  was  with  many  and  strong  sensations  that  he 
trod  these  localities,  and  reviewed  in  his  mind  the 
causes,  progress,  and  results  of  this  novel  contest 
between  a  great  country  and  her  colonies.  The 
injustice  in  which  the  contest  was  founded  on  the 
part  of  the  mother-country,  the  incapacity  with 
which  it  had  been  carried  on,  and  its  humiliating  close, 
were  all  mortifying  to  his  national  pride  ;  but  when 
he  reflected  again  that  it  was  only  by  the  spirit  of  her 
own  children,  backed  by  almost  all  Europe,  that 
England  had  been  defeated  in  the  worst  days  of  her 
public  management,  and  when  he  saw  what  great  and 
just  principles  of  political  science  had  been  elicited 
and  established  by  this  mighty  event ;  that  it  is  not 
by  the  arbitrary  dominion  over  colonies,  but  by  trade 
with  them,  that  the  parent-country  is  benefited  ;  that 
regions  so  immense  as  America  must,  most  naturally, 
sometime  cease  to  depend  on  the  original  country,  if 
they  have  the  spirit  in  them  necessary  for  their 
growth  into  great  nations ;  and  that  however  a  fine 
old  nation  like  England  may  be  humbled  in  the  vain 
and  wretched  contest  to  hold  in  subjugation  such  a 
territory,  yet  even  in  the  hour  of  this  loss  and  dis- 
memberment, she  is  a  match  for  a  whole  envious 
world  in  anus.     When  he  considered,  indeed,  how 


VOYAGE    TO    AMERICA.  81 

England  rose  single-handed  against  the  envious  and 
exulting  powers  of  all  Europe,  as  they  thought,  by  her 
unsuccessful  American  contest,  that  the  hour  of  her  fall 
was  come ;  how  she  at  once  assumed  a  prouder  posi- 
tion than  ever ;  how  she  chased  from  the  whole  wide 
ocean  the  mighty  fleets  of  France,  Holland,  and  Spain; 
and,  when  the  day  of  general  French  domination  on 
the  continent  was  come,  she  alone  stood  erect  and 
triumphant ;  she  alone  was  looked  to  among  the 
nations  whiith  had  endeavoured  to  sink  her  in  her 
native  ocean,  for  help  and  salvation ;  and  that  she 
stood  out  to  the  last  hour  against  the  conqueror  who 
had  put  all  other  heads  under  his  feet,  and  struck  at 
him  the  last  annihilating  blow  : — that  her  fame  rose 
above  all,  unparalleled,  the  alone  free  and  unshackled 
nation;  that  her  trade  and  her  colonies  had  gro^vn 
mightier  than  ever,  and  connected  the  whole  wide 
earth,  his  heart  swelled  with  a  high  and  filial  pride 
towards  his  own  peerless  land,  and  he  felt  that  there 
was  no  other  home  on  the  earth  for  him. 

His  friends  bade  him  adieu  in  the  Eastern  States, 
and,  with  his  servant,  he  took  his  solitary  way  west- 
ward. Sometimes  he  traversed  the  vast  forests  on 
horseback,  stopping  here  and  there  to  enjoy  the  chase, 
as  the  beauty  of  a  mountain  country  attracted  him, 
or  he  fell  in  with  settlers  and  solitary  hunters^  Some- 
times he  dropped  in  his  little  canoe,  purchased  for  the 
occasion,  down  the  Ohio,  or  other  streams,  with  hia 
dried  venison  and  his  tea  for  provision.  His  man, 
Nathan,  or  more  familiarly, 'Than  Hunt,  though  a  fina 


82  A    DUEL    AND    A 

gentleman's  servant,  in  England,  turned  out  a  most 
capital  fellow  in  these  expeditions,  accustoming  him- 
self to  all  circumstances,  and  showing  an  ingenuity 
which  was  wonderful.  In  fact  he  had  a  keen  relish 
for  this  wild  sort  of  life.  There  was  not  a  more  eager 
or  indefatigable  lover  of  wild  sport  in  existence.  He 
was  like  a  very  Indian  in  his  power  of  enduring 
fatigue,  and  was  never  so  happy  as  when  he  was 
crawling  on  all  fours  in  bushes  to  surprise  some  herd 
of  deer  or  buffaloes,  or  in  fierce  contest  with  a  bear. 
Again,  on  the  rivers  he  was  busy  making  his  fire,  boil- 
ing his  kettle,  or  while  they  stopped  the  boat  and  lay 
to  for  some  hours  of  refreshment  in  an  opening  of  the 
woods  on  the  river's  bank,  cooking  and  serving  up  a 
savoury  little  dinner  of  venison  killed  in  the  woods, 
or  of  fish  pulled  from  the  stream  as  they  came  along. 
At  night  when  they  halted  at  an  Indian  encampment, 
and  Charles  himself  in  vain  endeavoured  to  get  a 
sound  or  a  motion  from  the  Indians,  who  sat  smoking 
in  profound  and  imperturbable  silence  in  their  wig- 
wams, Hunt  would  get  among  the  squaws,  and  with 
his  native  humour,  expressed  by  signs,  put  them — 
especially  the  young  ones — for  he  was  a  very  good- 
looking  and  merry-looking  fellow  —  in  the  most  merry 
mood,  and  get  milk,  and  Indian  corn,  and  potatoes  in 
plenty  for  supper,  or  as  supplies  for  the  next  day. 

With  such  a  capital  travelling  companion,  aa 
well  as  servant  and  purveyor,  Middleton  realised  in 
a  great  measure  the  visions  of  his  younger  daya 
regarding  America.     He  penetrated  its  wilds  in  many 


VOYAGE    TO    AMKRICA.  89 

directions,  lived  with  the  settlers,  and  saw  them  iij 
their  busy  labours  of  clearance,  and  all  that  primitive 
life  which  he  had  so  fondly  imagined  to  himself;  but 
the  desire  of  settling  there  never  now  took  possession 
of  his  mind,  but,  on  the  contrary,  grew  more  distant 
from  it.  England  rose  more  and  more,  distant  as  it 
was,  into  a  lovely  and  poetical  atmosphere,  such  as 
that  which  wraps  the  azure  peaks  and  slopes  of  far-oflF 
hills.  Corrupt  as  it  politically  was,  he  beheld  it  as 
the  greatest  nation  of  the  earth,  and  as  worthy  of  the 
strongest  exertions  of  every  one  of  its  sons,  to  purge 
out  its  defects,  and  raise  it  to  a  still  nobler  elevation 
in  the  scale  of  nations. 

Here  all  around  him  was  divested  of  its  poetry,  and 
its  realities  often  stared  too  nakedly  and  coldly  in  his 
face.  He  saw  here  that  the  grand  enthusiasm  of  the 
contest  for  independence,  like  all  other  effects  depend- 
ing on  a  temporary  cause,  however  exalted,  had  died 
in  great  measure  away.  Faction,  and  the  tricks  of 
merely  worldly  cunning,  had  Iti  too  great  a  measure 
taken  their  place.  Federalist  and  Democrat  were  in 
bitter  contention. 

There  were  also  great  blots  on  the  fair  shield  of 
American  Republicanism  that  his  inmost  heart  recoil- 
ed at.  There  were  the  once  noble  Indians,  the  pos- 
sessors of  the  soil,  corrupted,  degraded,  and  driven  far 
backwards,  by  the  remorseless  policy  of  the  States, 
and  the  equally  remorseless  tide  of  western  emigration. 
He  gazed  in  wonder  and  pity  on  the  scanty  and 
miserable  hordes  of  these  red  men  which  he  sometimes 


84  THE   JUSTICES    CLERK    AGAIN. 

encountered  in  the  vicinity  of  the  white  population. 
How  fallen  were  they  !  How  unlike  the  grand  idte 
which  their  race  had  presented  to  his  mind  !  There 
were,  too,  irf  the  midst  of  the  land  of  the  highest 
assertors  of  liberty,  swarms  of  the  enslaved  negro  ! 

These  were  not  things  likely  to  reconcile  themselves 
to  the  high  moral  conceptions  of  Charles  Middleton. 
He  had  no  interest  in  endeavouring  to  ber.d  his  mind 
to  an  agreement  with  such  gross  anomalies ;  and  much 
as  he  admired  the  active  spirit,  and  consequently 
rapidly-growing  strength  of  this  great  country,  his 
heart  began  to  yearn  warmly  towards  his  own. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


THE  JUSTICE  S   CLERK  AGAIN. 

A  LETTER  which  Middletou  found  on  his  arrival  at 
New  York,  made  him  hasten  on  board  at  once,  and 
with  an  anxious  hearH 

It  was  from  Seth  Wagstaff,  written  at  the  request 
of  old  Mr.  Middleton,  informing  him  that  his  mother's 
health  was  in  a  very  critical  state.  WagstafF  stated 
that  Mrs.  Middleton  had  taken  cold  in  going  out  early 
one  morning  in  April  to  visit  a  poor  man  who  was 
considered  in  great  danger,  and  on  whose  labour  a 
large  family  of  children  depended.  The  cold  seemed 
to  have  settled  with  a  firmness  on  her  chest,  that  the 
doctors  could  not  in  the  slightest  degree  influence. 
The  old  gentleman  was  very  anxious  about  her,  and 


THE    justice's   clerk    AGAIN.  83 

constant  in  liis  attendance  on  her.  He  had  not  felt 
himself  able  to  write  on  the  subject  to  his  son,  and  had 
desired  Seth  to  do  it,  and  to  urge  his  immediate  and 
speediest  return.  Seth  himself  added  on  his  own  account 
that  he  would  not  wish  to  alarm  Charles  unnecessarily, 
or  add  to  his  distress  at  such  a  distance,  but  that  he 
could  not  avoid  expressing  his  fears  on  the  subject. 

This  intelligence  filled  Charles's  miu'l  with  the 
most  intense  anxiety.  His  affection  for  his  mother 
had  always  resembled,  in  its  tenderness,  far  more  that 
of  a  daughter  than  a  son.  He  immediately  imbibed 
the  darkest  forebodings,  and  could  not  avoid  blaming 
himself,  as  those  who  love  warmly  always  do,  for 
wandering  about  and  enjoying  so  many  exciting  things 
when  his  motlier  was  thus  sufiFering,  and  perhaps 
dying — perhaps  was  dead. 

His  state  of  mind  on  the  voyage  was  most  miserable. 
The  vessel  seemed  to  make  no  way ;  every  wind 
seemed  contrary  ;  and  though  this  voyage  was  one  of 
the  most  quick  and  favourable  that  was  ever  made,  it 
not  only  then,  but  ever  afterwards,  remained  in  his 
imagination  as  of  a  most  tedious  and  intolerable  length. 

When  he  landed  at  Liverpool,  he  threw  himself 
into  one  of  the  first  coaches  which  left  for  the  Midland 
Counties,  without  even  staying  fcir  an  linur's  refresh- 
ment, though  he  had  been  pacing  the  deck  most  of  the 
night  as  the  vessel  had  come  up  the  Mersey,  and 
longed  to  fling  him.self  into  the  sea  and  swim  to  shore, 
Fo  insupportably  wearisome  did  the  slow  progress  and 
making  port  seem. 
8. 


B6  THE    justice's    CLEIlK    AGAIN. 

On  arriving  at  Derby  he  hurried  to  the  house  of  a 
friend,  who  he  knew  would  be  in  possession  of  the 
latest  intelligence  from  Middleton ;  but,  as  he  ap- 
proached the  door,  the  fears  of  fatal  news  so  overcame 
him  that  he  suddenly  stopped,  gazed  on  the  dwelling  a 
moment,  with  a  strange  oppressive  feeling  of  the  secret 
of  which  it  might  be  in  possession,  and  turned  away. 
For  half  an  hour  he  traversed  the  streets  in  an  agony 
of  mind  indescribable,  and  at  length  rushed  into  an 
inn,  called  for  pen,  ink,  and  paper,  and  addressed  a  note 
to  his  friend  requesting  him  to  come  to  him  there. 

'Than  Hunt,  who  had  followed  his  master  to  and 
fro  in  the  streets  in  silence,  and  as  mechanically,  for 
he  knew  all  that  was  working  in  his  mind,  and  there- 
fore, seemed  to  take  no  notice  of  it,  hastened  away 
with  the  note,  and  in  less  than  ten  minutes  returned, 
announcing  that  the  gentleman  would  be  there  imme- 
diately. The  state  of  Middleton's  mind  during  the 
interval  which  had  passed  since  he  sent  off  Hunt,  and 
which  now  ensued  till  his  friend  made  his  appearance, 
was  one  of  intense  torture.  At  one  time  he  paced  the 
room  in  agitation,  stopping  and  listening  fearfully  to 
every  footstep  ;  at  another,  he  sate  down  on  the  sofa 
trembling  as  with  intense  cold. 

He  watched  Hunt's  countenance,  when  he  brought 
back  the  message,  curiously,  and  a  shivering  fear  went 
through  him,  as  Hunt,  with  a  peculiarly  solemn  for- 
mality, delivered  it  and  withdrew.  But  the  moment 
lie  saw  his  friend  enter,  he  started  up  and  exclaimed, 
"  My  God  '    My  mother  then  is  dead !" 


THE    justice's    CLERK    AGAIN  87 

His  friend  had  not  indeed  littered  a  word ;  but 
Charles  had  fixed  his  eye  with  a  feverish  anxiety  on 
the  door,  and  at  the  first  glimpse  of  his  friend's  face, 
he  felt,  from  its  not  being  bright  with  the  eager  joy 
of  such  an  occasion,  what  was  the  fact. 

In  reality,  Mrs.  Middleton  had  been  dead  more 
than  two  months  ;  and  Middleton,  sending  forward  his 
servant  to  announce  his  being  in  Der])y,  remained 
there  some  days  to  indulge  his  grief  m  secret,  and  to 
nerve  himself  sufficiently  for  his  melancholy  return 
home.  But  every  day  only  increased  his  reluctance 
to  this  last  trial ;  and  one  morning,  therefore,  mount- 
ing his  horse  he  rode  rapidly  to  Middleton,  and  flung 
himself  into  his  father's  arms. 

We  will  pass  over  the  first  weeks  of  his  finding 
himself  at  home.  We  can  imagine  how  blank  and 
melancholy  they  were.  He  saw  that  his  father  was 
much  changed  and  aged  by  his  loss.  The  old  clergy- 
man seemed  little  less  so ;  and  not  only  from  Seth 
"\Vagstaff\,  but  with  every  one,  where  his  mother 
had  been  so  yniversally  loved,  the  smiles  for  his 
welcome  were  obscured  by  tears  and  sorrowful  sobs. 
It  was  moreover  a  season  of  the  year  to  deepen  gloomy 
impressions  ;  it  was  late  in  the  autumn,  and  the  mists 
and  damps  which  hung  about,  and  the  masses  of  yel- 
low leaves  which  every  night's  frost  cut  down  as  with 
shears  from  the  trees,  and  scattered  suddenly  on  the 
earth,  gave  the  most  cheerless  aspect  to  all  out  of 
doors.  The  little  justice-room  stood  as  usual,  neat 
and  white  on  the  green,   but  the  justice  never  went 


88  THE    JUSTICES    CLERK    AGAIX. 

near  it;  he  sate  carefully,  shunning  too  much  thought 
by  pondering  on  his  book;  and  the  silence  in  the 
house  fell  heavily  on  Charles's  heart. 

It  was  from  the  rector  and  Seth  '\\''agstafF  that  he 
learned  the  particulars  of  his  mother's  illness  and  end, 
and  both  agreed  that  a  man  must  travel  far  before  ho 
found  such  another  woman. 

That  winter  Charles  Middleton  employed  himself 
closely  in  writing  a  work,  on  which  he  had  reflected 
much  on  his  journey,  on  the  state  of  political  morals 
in  England  ;  on  the  condition  to  which  they  had  re- 
duced her ;  and  on  the  means  and  prospects  of  a 
genuine  reform.  As  he  went  deeper  into  his  subject 
his  interest  in  it  grew  every  day  more  vivid ;  his 
imagination  kindled  at  the  view  of  the  vast  achieve- 
ments which  England,  by  her  position  and  her  energy 
of  character,  was  capable  of  accoinplisliing  for  her 
own  glory,  and  the  advancement  of  knowledge  and 
civilization  over  the  whole  earth ;  and  he  called  on 
all  the  lovers  of  their  country,  and  their  race,  to  set 
their  shoulders  to  the  work,  with  a  zeal  and  eloquence 
peculiarly  his  own. 

This,  and  the  preparation  of  his  volume  for  the 
press,  buoyed  his  spirit  above  the  brooding  thoughts 
which  would  otherwise  have  crushed  it.  He  dis- 
cussed these  subjects  with  the  rector,  and  with  his 
friend  Seth  "W'agstafF,  with  much  animation,  and 
found  himself  capable  even  of  diflFusing  a  cheerfulness 
over  the  mind  of  his  father. 

The  winter  was  not  yet  over  when  his  work  wa« 


THE    JUSTICE  S    CLERK    AGAIN.  89 

published,  and  the  instant  avidity  \vitli  which  it  was 
haHed,  and  the  high  encomiums  which  it  received 
on  all  hands,  had  something  magical  in  its  effects  on  liis 
spirits.  Edition  after  edition  was  called  for  with  won- 
derful rapidity ;  letters  of  thanks  and  congratulation 
poured  in  from  every  quarter,  and  many  of  them  from 
men  of  such  exalted  station  and  fame,  both  literary, 
religious,  and  political,  as  quite  astonished  him.  This 
was  more  than  he  had  calculated  upon.  He  looked  on 
this  communication  thus  at  once  opened  with  minds  for 
which  he  had  the  highest  veneration,  as  a  proud  re- 
compense for  all  former  mortification,  and  as  shewing 
him  that  he  had  done  gross  injustice  to  the  hearts  and 
virtues  of  his  countrymen,  from  judging  only  of  those 
mingled  in  the  uproar  of  interested  strife.  His  father, 
his  ^friends,  the  clergyman,  and  Seth,  were  not  the 
less  proud  of  his  success :  it  cast  a  cheering  sunshine 
all  round  them,  and  they  ceased  to  sigh,  except  when 
they  thought  how  the  heart  of  Mrs.  Middleton  would 
have  beat  at  this  fair  fame  of  her  son. 

Spring  was  already  sending  out  its  tender  and  beau- 
tiful harbingers ;  the  snowdrop  appeared  with  the 
thaw,  and  the  strengthening  and  lengthening  light  of 
the  days,  called  out  the  spirit  to  glance  to  far-off 
hills,  and  to  see  a  greenness  creeping  over  the  land- 
scape, as  the  hues  of  returning  health  kindle  in  the 
face  of  a  young  invalid. 

Charles  Middleton  one  day — under  the  influence  of 
these  things,  which  sent  as  it  were  a  soft  and  tender 
pring  also  into  the  heart — had  been  walking  into  the 


-©0  THE    JLSTICe's    CLERK     AGAIN. 

neighbourhood  of  the  village,  and  was  retummg 
through  the  churchyard,  when  a  strong  desire  sud- 
denly seized  him  to  enter  the  church,  and  pay  a  soli- 
tary visit  to  his  mother's  tomb.  He  sent  a  boy,  who 
was  playing  by  himself  on  the  footpath,  to  the  clerk 
for  the  keys,  and  entering  the  chancel,  shut  himself 
in.  He  had  been  of  late  often  considering  with  him- 
self what  would  be  the  most  fitting  monument  and 
mehiorial  of  his  beloved  parent ;  but  what  was  his 
surprise  when,  on  raising  his  eyes  to  the  part  of  the 
wall,  where  it  ought  to  be,  to  behold  one  already 
there ! 

There  was  something  painful  in  this  surprise  ;  a 
feeling  of  anger  even  banished  from  his  mind  that  of 
tender  grief,  with  which  he  had  entered.  Could  his 
father  have  done,  this  without  consulting  or  even 
apprising  him  of  what  he  was  about?  But  as  he 
drew  nearer,  and  surveyed  it  more  narrowly,  this 
sensation  gave  way  to  another  and  more  subduing 
surprise.  The  monument  which  he  beheld  was  a 
simple  mural  tablet  of  white  marble,  containing  in  the 
centre  the  profile  of  his  deceased  mother,  of  the  size 
of  life,  in  bas-relief  of  the  most  exquisite  execution , 
he  recognised  it  as  derived  from  the  painting  in  the 
hall ;  but  the  expression  of  that  pure  and  beautiful 
spirit  seemed  so  much  more  etherialized  in  the 
marble,  and  so  accordant  with  his  ideas  of  her  now, 
as  a  glorified  being  in  the  presence  of  her  Creator, 
that  he  fell  at  once  on  his  knees  before  it,  and  sunk 
his  face  in  his  hands  bathed  with  his  giisliing  and 


THE    justice's   CLERK   AGAIN.  91 

plenteous  tears.  His  heart  was  melted  with  the 
deepest  love  and  tenderness :  and  as  he  gazed  again 
on  that  beautiful  work  of  art,  he  beheld  that,  below 
the  profile,  ran,  at  the  bottom  of  the  tablet,  a  sort  of 
broad  band,  on  which  was  represented  a  scene  in 
relief  that  most  powerfully  moved  him.  His  mother, 
perfect  in  figure  and  action  as  in  life,  was  advancing 
towards  a  cottage,  at  whose  door  a  poor  woman,  with 
her  apron  raised  to  her  eyes,  was  awaiting  her 
approacli.  It  was  the  scene  of  that  visit  which  had 
laid  the  foundation  of  her  last  illness.  A  little  boy 
and  girl,  in  whom  he  recognised  striking  likenesses  of 
the  children  of  Seth  Wagstaff,  were  presenting  his 
mother  with  spring  violets  which  they  had  gathered 
from  the  banks,  a  touching  memorial  of  her  love  of 
flowers,  and  behind,  other  little  children  were  stealth- 
ily approaching  and  kissing  her  garment. 

The  beauty,  the  fitness,  the  happy  design  of  this 
little  monument  filled  the  mind  and  heart  of  Charles 
Middleton  with  the  liveliest  sensations.  He  did  not 
knov/  whether  to  admire  most  the  true  genius  which 
had  dictated  the  design,  or  that  of  the  hand  which 
had  executed  it.  He  could  not  conceive  who  had 
furnished  the  idea;  how  and  why  all  this  had  been  done 
with  such  secrecy.  He  seated  himself  opposite,  and 
attentively  gazed  at  it,  wept  for  some  time,  and  then 
hastened  to  the  parsonage,  to  learn  the  particulars. 

His  wonder  here  was  only  the  mare  increased.  He 
learned  that  the  idea  was  entirely  that  of  Seth  Wag- 
staff;  that  he  had  submitted  it  to  the  squire  before 


82  THE   JUSTICES    CLERK    AGAIN. 

Charles  had  returned  home,  and  had  been  commanded 
by  him  to  see  it  executed  as  quickly  as  possible.  It 
had  been  put  up  only  the  day  before,  and  that  very 
morning  the  rector  had  been  to  seek  for  Charles  to 
conduct  him  to  see  it,  and  had  found  him  gone  out- 
His  father,  \7agstaff,  and  himself  had  all  calculated 
on  giving  him  a  most  agreeable  surprise. 

But  how  and  where  had  Seth  AVagstalF  got  all 
this  done  ? 

When  lie  was  a  boy,  he  had,  when  working  with 
his  father  in  sinking  a  well  at  a  gentleman's  house 
near  Sheffield,  Ijccome  acquainted  with  a  boy  of  the 
village  who  had  since  turned  out  a  fomous  sculptor. 
This  was  no  other  than  Chantry.  Seth  had  heard  of 
the  beautiful  monument  which  he  had  erected  to  the 
two  children  in  the  Cathedral  of  Lichfield,  and  had 
been,  while  Charles  was  in  America,  to  visit  it.  He 
had  come  back  with  the  highest  admiration  of  the 
feeling  and  power  of  the  sculptor,  and  since  Mrs. 
Middleton's  decease  had  proposed  this  subject  to  the 
squire.  As  we  have  stated,  he  instantly  received  the 
squire's  sanction  of  his  design,  and  he  had  hastened  to 
London,  where  the  artist  then  lived,  and  explained 
his  views  to  him.  Chantry  had  entered  into  the  idea 
and  the  feeling  of  his  old  comrade  with  the  greatest 
ardour.  Seth  had  sent  down  for  the  portrait  neces- 
sary for  the  work,  and  soon  hastened  down  himself 
with  a  sketch  of  the  design,  v.ith  which  the  old  gen- 
tleman was  enraptured,  The  result  was  '-^hat  he  had 
now  seen. 

% 


THE    LYNDENS    AND    A     WEDDING.  93 

This  account  gave  Charles  Middleton  a  liiglier  idea 
of  the  taste  and  the  innate  i^finement  of  ^Vagstaff 
than  he  had  before  ;  he  hastened  away  to  liis  house, 
seized  him  warmly  by  the  hand,  and  as  he  shook  it 
again  and  again,  thanked  him,  with  tears  in  his  eyes, 
for  this  inestimable  proof  of  his  good  heart  and  true 
poetical  feeling. 

It  was  for  a  long  time  Middleton's  greatest  delight 
daily  to  visit  and  admire  this  monument ;  but,  be- 
sides the  pleasure  which  it  never  failed  to  afford  him, 
it  led  to  after  results  which  are  quite  important 
enough  to  have  a  whole  chapter  to  themselves. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE    LYNDENS    AND    A    WEDDING. 

It  is  curious  how  the  events  of  our  lives  are  linked 
together,  and  how  one  circumstance,  often  a  small 
one,  is  inevitably  bound  to  an  unseen  train  of  otherg 
of  the  most  lasting  consequence  to  us. 

From  admiring  this  monument  to  his  mother'a 
memory,  Charles  conceived  a  great  admiration  of  the 
genius  of  the  artist,  and  soon  after  resolved  to  ride 
over  to  Lichfield  to  behold  that  of  which  Seth  had 
spoken  so  much.  The  tender  and  beautiful  sentiment 
of  this  has  been  made  universally  known  to  the  public 
by  visits  to  it  or  by  repeated  descriptions.  Charles 
was  extremely  captivated  by  it. 

As  he  was  about  to  return  homeward,  however,  ho 


94  THE    LYNDENS    AND 

suddenly  called  to  mind  that  the  son  of  a  very  old 
friend  of  his  father's  resided  in  Needwood  Forest,  and 
he  determined  to  call  on  him  on  his  way  home.  He 
had  himself  never  seen  this  gentleman.  His  father 
had  been  dead  many  years,  and  the  acquaintance  of 
the  family,  he  hardly  knew  how,  seemed  to  cease. 
But  he  recollected  with  so  much  pleasure  the  old 
gentleman's  visits  at  Middleton,  in  the  happiest  of  hii* 
boyish  days,  how  he  had  strolled  with  him  through 
the  fields,  and  how  his  father  had  never  ceased  to 
speak  of  him  with  the  most  sincere  feelings  of  respect 
and  regret. 

Mr.  Lynden,  the  son  of  this  old  gentleman,  had, 
in  ftict,  been  engaged  in  many  and  important  specu- 
lations in  distant  parts  of  the  kingdom,  into  which  he 
had  been  led  very  early  in  life,  and  it  was  only  within 
a  few  years  that  he  had  returned  to  his  patrimonial 
property,  and  settled  down  to  the  quiet  enjoyment  of 
the  remainder  of  his  life  among  his  native  scenes  and 
his  old  family  connections. 

Middleton  felt  momentarily  astonished  to  find  this 
gentleman  an  old  and  venerable  man  ;  for  he  had  not 
reflected  on  the  years  that  had  fled  since  old  Mr. 
Lynden  was  at  Middleton,  and  that  he  was  a  very  old 
though  hale  man  at  that  time.  But  though  the  sons 
of  these  old  friends  met,  the  one  with  gray  hairs  and 
the  other  as  a  youth,  the  meeting  was  not  the  less 
joyous  and  cordial. 

Mr.  Lynden  seemed  charmed  at  Middleton's  having 
thus  renewed  the  family  friendship.     He  said  he  had 


A  WEnniNG.  9.5 

often  M-islicd  to  do  it  liimself,  but  had  al\va}'s  been 
prevented  by  his  distant  and  pressing  occr.pations ; 
and  that  wish  had  of  late,  he  said,  been  great!}- 
increased  by  the  fame  of  the  talents  and  virtues  of 
the  eldest  son  of  Mr.  Middleton,  with  wliich  the 
whole  country  nad  ning.  The  old  gentleman  did 
not  stop  to  ask  whether  Charles  was  that  son,  but 
introduced  liim  to  his  family,  his  wife  and  two 
daughters,  by  whom  he  was  received  with  equal  evi- 
dences of  pleasure. 

jNIiddleton  himself  had  scarcely  looked  round  him, 
when  he  felt  a  secret  pleasure  and  satisfaction  in  his 
visit,  such  as  he  had  never  before  been  conscious  of. 
There  was  something  in  the  tone  and  appearance  of 
the  whole  family  which  delighted  him  without  his 
stopping  to  inquire  what  it  was.  There  was  an  atmo- 
sphere about  the  house,  which  was  an  extremely 
cheerful  one,  and  looking  forth  into  a  lovely  garden 
that  struck  him  as  peculiarly  sweet  and  homelike. 
But  the  greatest  charm  lay  in  the  persons  themselves. 
There  was  an  open  and  most  cordial  manner  about 
them,  that  made  him  feel  as  if  he  were  really  amongst 
those  whom  nature  or  Providence  meant  for  his 
friends.  There  was,  too,  a  quiet  and  repose,  the  sure 
attendants  and  evidences  of  hearts  at  ease  and  above 
the  petty  vanities  and  ambitions  of  the  world. 

Mrs.  Lyndcn  was  a  particularly  quiet  and  matronly 
woman,  who  seemed  rather  inclined  to  listen  than  to 
talk,  and  who  was  yet,  Middleton  found,  when  he 
entered  into  conversation  with  her,  fuUof  intelli^^'encc. 


90  THE   LYNDENS    AXD 

Her  family  connections  lay  in  different  parts  of  tht 
United  Kingdom,  and  she  had,  therefore,  not  only 
merely  seen  a  good  deal  of  the  best  society,  but  a  good 
deal  of  the  finest  parts  of  the  country.  Middleton  sooa 
found  that  they  had  a  common  Icnowledge  of  many 
persons  and  places,  which  was  very  delightful. 

It  was  naturally,  however,  on  the  daughters  that 
he  turned  his  more  particular  attention,  and  these 
•wonderfully  attracted  him.  The  two  sisters  were 
both  lovely,  but  of  very  different  appearance.  The 
elder  was  under  twenty,  and  the  younger  just  turned 
eighteen.  They  had  in  common  an  air  of  health 
and  freshness,  both  of  mind  and  body,  which  they 
had  derived  from  their  simple  and  pure  country  life ; 
but  the  elder  had  evidently  more  softness  of  character, 
the  younger  more  fire.  The  taller  figure,  soft  rosy  com- 
plexion, and  mild  blue  eye  of  Lucy,  bespoke  the  most 
gentle  and  affectionate  character;  but  the  more  sharply 
and  intellectually  defined  features  of  Edith,  and  the 
warmth  and  quickness  of  feeling  wliich  displayed 
itself  in  her  whole  manner,  had  an  inconceivable 
charm  for  Middjeton.  To  the  one  his  heart  warmed 
as  to  a  dear  sister,  to  the  other  he  was  drawn  as  by  a 
destiny.  He  saw  her  whole  transparent  being  at  one 
glance ;  he  seemed  to  have  known  her  for  years  in 
his  dreams  and  his  fancy.  His  heart  embraced  her  as 
the  great  desired  treasure  of  his  life ;  and,  from  the 
first  day  of  their  intercourse,  he  had  neither  doubt 
nor  fear  but  that  she  was,  and  would  be  his  own. 

He  saw  .that  that  heart  was  all  fire  and  enthusiasm 


A    WEDDING.  87 

for  everything  that  was  beautiful  and  noble,  and  felt 
that  it  would  respond  with  one  passionate  impulse  to  the 
same  feelings  in  himself ;  and  he  was  not  deceived. 

Unlike  the  course  of  ordinary  true  love,  there  is 
little  for  us  here  to  describe.  No  fears ;  no  falling  on 
the  knee ;  no  surprises  and  difficulties,  and  subsequent 
clearing  away  of  involving  clouds,  and  tears,  and 
raptures.  The  characters  of  both  were  so  similar  and 
so  transparent,  that  they  at  once,  as  by  a  heavenly 
instinct,  saw  and  loved  each  otlier.  Middleton  saw- 
in  Edith  Lynden  the  companion  spirit  of  all  his 
heart's  noblest  sentiments  and  aspirations,  and  he  feit 
that  she  recognised  the  same  in  him.  He  became, 
nobody  seemed  exactly  to  know  how,  as  an  old  and 
dear  friend  of  the  family. 

Mr.  Lynden  now  rode  out  with  him  and  showed 
him  the  neighbourhood,  and  now  he  drove  out  the 
sisters  to  the  parts  of  the  forest  Avhich  they  particu- 
larly admired,  and  was  introduced  by  them  to  the  fami- 
lies they  most  loved.  He  saw  rapidly  the  whole  simple 
life  and  character  of  these  attached  sisters.  They 
had  lived  only  among  the  fairest  scenes  of  nature  and 
the  best  portion  of  society.  Of  the  real  world  and  all 
its  crimes  and  strivings,  they  knew  only  from  books, 
in  which  they  were  extensively  read.  But,  both  by 
the  cares  of  their  parents,  and  the  high  character  of 
the  friends  with  whom  they  had  associated,  their 
minds  were  full  of  the  warmth  and  the  purest  inno- 
cence of  youth.  Nature  and  poetry  were  their  daily 
food  ;  and,  to  their  young  hearts,  all  thoschigli  feel- 
9 


88  THE   LYNDEKS    AND 

ings  of  truth  and  honour,   which    Middleton   wor 
shipped,  were  as  their  owti  life's  blood.     They  had  nt 
conceptions  of  anything  else  in  persons  who  were  not 
thoroughly  contemptible. 

Middleton  soon  discovered  that  Mr.  Lynden,  though 
a  man  who  had  large  dealings  with  the  world,  had 
retained  through  all  the  utmost  tenderness  of  con- 
science. There  was  no  principle  for  which  Charles 
Middleton  had  contended  which  did  not  grow  naturally 
out  of  Mr.  Lynden's  religion.  But  without  Middle- 
ton's  sanguine  temperament,  Mr.  Lynden  had  made 
many  and  heavy  sacrifices  for  his  conscientious  up- 
rightness of  character,  and  had  been  bitterly  deceived, 
and  basely  treated,  without  its  liavmg  in  the  slightest 
degree  lowered  his  estimate  of  human  nature.  He 
had  set  out  in  life  with  no  Utopian  notions  of  the 
general  virtue,  and  though  he  had  been  deceived  in 
particular  cases,  he  had  never  been  so  in  his  general 
view  of  mankind.  He  contended  that  this  was  a 
world  of  rt-ial  in  every  way,  and  that  if  human  nature 
had  not  been  made  weak  and  imperfect,  there  was  no 
need  of  such  a  world  at  all.  That  we  are  here  but  as 
in  the  cradle  of  our  existence  ;  we  have  here  to  learn 
to  walk,  and  that  it  is  over  our  own  selfishness  and 
weakness  that  we  have  to  learn  to  triumph. 

Tlie  very  wickedness  of  the  mass,  he  contended, 
but  calls  forth  the  exercise  of  virtue  ;  daily  forbear- 
ance and  heroic  self-sacrifice  in  individuals  ;  and  these 
individuals  thus  become  burning  and  shining  lights  to 
others.     -.]f  all    were  good,    and  walked  erect   and 


A    W ADDING  99 

straightforward  from  the  very  first  and  weak  steps  ol 
our  existence,  it  must  be  because  it  required  very  little 
exertion  to  do  so  ;  and  thus  virtue  would  cease  to  be 
virtue.  But  it  was  by  the  general  falling  short  that  the 
glorious  beauty  of  virtue  is  made  manifest;  and  instead 
of  spurning  our  weaker  fellow  creatures,  it  becomes 
the  godlike  task  of  the  good  to  pity  them,  to  love  them, 
and  to  toil  unweariedly,  amid  all  the  cruelties  and 
the  ingratitude  of  common  life,  for  their  restoration. 

There  was  something  wonderfully  cheering  and 
strengthening  to  Middleton  in  this  doctrine,  seeing,  as  he 
did,  its  results  in  the  pure  and  beautiful  life  of  him  who 
maintained  it,  and  reflected  as  it  was  by  the  affectionate 
and  happy  hearts  into  which  it  had  been  instilled. 

A  week  of  the  most  blissful  days  of  his  existence 
had  fled  on  like  a  dream.  Though  Mr.  Lynden  had 
not  thought  to  ask  him  at  first  if  he  wei-e  the  author 
of  the  work  on  "  Political  Morals,"  which  had  given 
nim  more  pleasure  than  any  work  he  ever  read,  the 
sisters  had  decided  instantly  that  it  was  he  ;  and  on 
his  being  introduced,  had  at  once  exclaimed,  ''  What  a 
pleasure  to  see  Mr.  Charles  Middleton,  whose  name 
is  so  well  known  to  us !  " 

The  young  author  had  not  only  the  gratification  to 
see  the  very  sentiments  which  had  burned  and  glowed 
in  their  passage  from  his  heart,  here  marked  by  the 
admiring  pencil  of  the  fair  sisters,  but  to  hear  them 
read  in  tones  that  seemed  to  give  them  a  beauty  ten- 
fold more  than  he  had  imagined  in  them. 

Everywhere  in  that  uncorrupted  s^vd  reBned  society 


100  THE   I.YNDENS    AND 

to  which  he  had  been  introduced  by  thera,  he  had 
been  warmly  welcomed  as  one  of  the  most  high- 
minded  of  writers  ;  and  strong  in  resolutions  of  fresh 
exertions  in  the  cause  of  humanity,  and  wrapt  in  the 
day-dreams  of  happy  affection,  he  rode  home. 

We  need  not  say  that  this  was  the  most  delightful 
summer  of  Middleton's  life.  The  offer  of  his  alliance 
had  been  accepted  with  the  most  undisguised  gladness 
by  the  Lyndens.  His  father  was  equally  pleased  with 
it,  and  immediately  made  over  to  him  a*  handsome 
income.  Growing  acquaintance  had  only  strengthened 
the  satisfaction  and  the  friendship  of  all  parties. 

In  the  autumn  the  marriage  took  place;  and 
Charles,  with  his  wife  and  her  sister,  immediately  set 
out  for  a  tour  on  the  continent.  On  this  tour  it  was 
settled,  that  though  they  would  spend  a  good  part  of 
the  year  at  Middleton,  so  as  to  contribute  as  much  as 
possible  to  the  comfort  of  the  old  squire,  they  would 
fix  their  own  home  near  London,  where  they  could 
enjoy  literary  society,  and  where  old  Mr.  Middleton 
could  during  the  season  visit  them,  and  thus  enjoy  not 
only  their  society,  but  that  of  such  of  his  old  friends 
and  neighbours  as  regularly  came  to  towa. 

As  it  turned  out,  however,  the  old  gentleman, 
though  enjoying  a  trip  to  London  now  and  then,  soon 
showed  that  it  was  at  Middleton  that  his  heart  chiefly 
lay,  while,  on  the  contrary,  Charles  and  his  wife 
became  more  and  more  bound  to  the  vicinity  of  Lon- 
don. Middleton's  talent  and  high  character,  as  was  to 
be  expected,  speedily  called  him  forth  as  an  invaluable 


A    WEDDING.  101 

i-hampion  in  all  those  great  plans  for  the  good  of 
society,  which  are  always  in  activity  in  London. 
Literati,  philanthropists,  and  politicians  flocked  round 
him.,  His  pen,  his  purse,  and  his  personal  exertions 
were  soon  zealously  engaged  in  so  many  great  ohjects, 
as  while  they  ^ave  him  the  persuasion  that  ho  was  ren- 
dering the  greatest  possible  benefit  to  his  fellow  men. 
left  him  neither  time  nor  inclination  for  aught  else. 

In  the  great  struggle  for  Parliamentary  Reform, 
his  eloquent  pen  and  enthusiastic  zeal  were  univer- 
sally allowed  to  have  efiFected  the  most  brilliant 
results ;  and  tliat  triumph  once  won,  he  was  on  all 
sides  importuned  to  enter  Parliament.  But  he  firmly 
resisted  the  flattering  temptation.  He  had  acquired 
a  deep  insight  into  his  own  character.  He  knew  his 
own  sanguine  temperament ;  and  was  aware  that  once 
cast  into  the  rapid  and  fascinating  current  of  parlia- 
mentary debate,  his  love  of  eloquence,  and  his  vehe- 
ment longing  for  right  and  truth,  would  absorb  his 
whole  heart  and  soul.  He  might,  he  did  not  doubt, 
win  the  palm  of  a  high  oratorical  renown,  but  it  must 
be  at  the  sacrifice  of  many  human  interests  which  were 
dear  to  him  as  life  itself,  and  to  which  he  was  now 
daily  devoted.  Besides,  he  felt  that  he  possessed  in  his 
pen  a  mighty  instrument  not  only  of  permanent 
reputation,  but  of  social  good.  It  had  become  to  him 
a  high  and  serene  enjoyment  from  the  occasional 
seclusion  of  his  study — from  the  very  heart  of  calm 
peace  and  silence — to  launch  the  fiery  arrows  of  hia 
eloquence,  and  see  the  vast  human  multitude  without, 


102  THE   LYNDENS   AND    A    WEDDING. 

thrown  into  the  commotionof  a  tempest,  -which,  rolling 
on  far  and  wide,  bore  down  before  it  the  barriers  of 
baseness,  which  selfish  natures  were  always  piling  up 
against  the  advance  of  *,ruth  and  knowledge. 

To  his  own  mind  he  had  realised  all  the  wishes 
which  in  his  most  ardent  years  he  had  conceived.  He 
felt  that  he  possessed  that  proudest  power,  intellect, 
and  that  it  was  exerted  in  its  most  blessed  and  legiti- 
mate direction — that  of  advancing  human  good — and 
he  was  happy.  Human  nature  had  vindicated  itself 
in  his  eyes  in  the  noblest  manner,  in  the  virtues  of 
those  great  and  eminent  men  amongst  whom  his  tastes 
and  labours  had  thrown  him.  His  writings  had  won 
him  a  wide  reputation,  because  they  were  not  the 
merely  cold  and  sarcastic,  or  as  coldly  calculating 
effusions  of  the  day's  politics,  but  were  quickened 
with  the  warmest  fires  of  fancy  and  energy  of  soul. 

In  his  wife,  time  had  shown  him  as  fortunate  as  he 
had  at  first  deemed  himself.  With  talents  equal  to 
working  out  for  herself  a  brilliant  fame  in  the  regions 
of  poetry  and  fancy,  her  fondest  desire  was  to  increase 
the  fame  and  usefulness  of  her  husband.  Her  praise 
was  his  best  stimulus  to  high  exertion  ;  her  instinctive 
tact  often  gave  this  its  best  direction ;  and  her  fancy 
and  talent  continually  suggested  and  supplied  him 
with  matter  which  conferred  still  more  effective 
power  on  his  compositions. 

Under  these  circumstances  time  fled  on  ;  and  wa 
shall  let  him  flee  on  for  a  long  space  of  years,  only 
noticing  two  little  affairs  by  the  way. 


» 

SHALL    TROUBLES    AND    GREAT    GlIAKQES.         lO.*? 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

SMALL    TROUBLES    AND    GREAT   CHANGES. 

In  one  of  the  visits  which  INIr.  Charles  Middleton 
and  his  wife  made  to  Middleton,  he  found  the  old 
rector  grown  so  feeble,  both  in  mind  and  body,  that 
it  had  been  necessary  to  engage  a  curate  to  do  his 
duty.  This  was  a  Mr.  Brandling,  a  young  man 
who  appeared  to  be  much  in  favour  with  almost 
every  body,  but  who  did  not  very  much  take  the 
fancy  either  of  the  young  sq^uire  or  his  lady. 

Charles  Middleton  had  always  contemplated,  when- 
ever the  old  rector  should  die,  securing  the  living,  if 
it  fell  vacant  in  his  father's  time,  or  giving  it  if  it  fell 
in  his  own,  to  a  college  friend  of  great  taste  and  piety, 
and  whom  he  thought  of  all  men  calculated  to  become 
a  blessing  to  the  parish  and  a  pleasant  companion  for 
himself  and  his  family.  It  was  therefore  a  matter  of 
chagrin  to  him  that  lie  had  not  been  consulted  about 
this;  but  he  found  that  neither  his  father  nor  Wag- 
staff,  who  was  now  become  steward,  had  had  a  voice 
in  it.  Out  of  delicacy  to  their  old  fiiend,  they  had 
never  hinted  even  that  he  was  in  any  way  incapable 
of  his  usual  duties,  because  he  was  not,  in  f^ict, 
really  troubled  with  any  actual  indisposition  or  decre- 
pitude, but  was  sinking  into  a  state  of  superannua- 
tion which  would  in  a  while  render  such  a  step  aa 
this  both  kind  and  necessary.     At  present,  however, 


l04  SMALL    TROUBLES   AND 

the  good  old  man  had  sho^vn  a  particular  sensitive* 
ness  to  any  hints  from  any  quarter  at  any  inability  to 
perform  all  his  duties,  as  well  as  in  his  best  days. 
While,  however,  they  were  thus  waiting,  the  bishop 
stepped  suddenly  in  and  appointed  this  young  man, 
who  ^^■as  a  nephew  of  his  own,  and  who  it  was  whis 
pered  had,  himself,  pointed  out  the  necessity  of  the 
act,  and  requested  the  appointment. 

This  information  materially  increased  Charles  Mid- 
dleton's  vexation  and  dislike  to  the  curate.  There 
was  nothing  that  he  could  object  to  him  in  a  moral 
point  of  view.  He  was  strictly  regular  in  his  duties, 
but  in  a  religious  one  he  thought  there  were  great 
objections  to  him.  He  could  not,  in  fact,  trace  in 
him  any  decided  and  palpable  religious  impressions 
at  all. 

The  curate  was  of  some  five  or  six  and  twenty 
years  of  age,  of  a  middle  size,  dark  complexion,  and 
with  dark  and  crisped  hair.  On  both  hair  and  person 
generally,  great  care  was  evidently  bestowed.  He 
always  wore  the  handsomest  gloves,  had  the  most 
beautifully  cut  collars  and  wristbands,  and  wore  ex- 
quisitely shaped  boots.  Yet  no  one  could  call  him 
any  thing  of  a  dandy,  but  on  the  contrary  everybody 
said  he  was  a  very  gentlemanly  man — a  very  res- 
pectable man.  He  gave  himself,  indeed,  no  fine  airs, 
but  had  a  smiling,  somewhat  sociable  and  conversa- 
tional manner,  particularly  with  the  ladies.  He  read 
the  newspaper  regularly,  and  was  always  au  fait  in 
what  was  going  on  in  parliament  and  the  ministry ; 


GREAT    CHANGES.  106 

and  as  he  was  very  regular  in  his  calls  on  all  the  good 
families  in  the  neighbourhood,  he  was  not  the  less  so 
on  all  the  little  affairs  and  on  dits  of  the  country 
round.  He  was  a  remavlcably  pleasant  and  chatty 
person  at  the  dinner  table ;  and  this  and  his  other  good 
qualities  procured  him  no  lack  of  such  invitations. 

In  fact  Mr.  Brandling  was  become  a  general 
favourite  before  Mr.  Charles  Middleton  knew  that 
he  was  there  at  all.  Even  with  his  father  he  was  not 
tne  less  so,  with  whom  he  played  all  the  long  winter 
evenings  at  chess,  and  made  one  at  a  rubber  at  whist, 
and  to  whom  he  brought  daily  the  newspaper. 

"  But  why  is  the  man  such  a  favourite  ?"  asked 
Charles  Middleton  impatiently,  "for  what  merits? 
What  are  his  talents,  or  his  principles  \" 

Nobody  pretended  to  say  what  were  his  merits  or 
his  talents  particularly.  They  were  sure  he  was  a 
sound  and  orthodox  churchman,  and  he  had  the  merit 
of  making  himself  very  agreeable. 

Charles  Middleton  put  these  his  impatient  questions 
to  ^7agstaff,  and  he  saw  that  WagstafF  did  not  seem 
more  to  admire  him  than  he  did  himself. 

"  I  cannot  find,"  said  Wagstaff,  "  that  he  has  any 
very  decided  intellectual  tastes,  and  what  he  really 
knows  or  does  not  know,  it  is  not  easy  to  ascertain ; 
for  he  is  too  much  of  a  gentleman  to  suffer  a  person 
like  myself  to  catechise  or  draw  him  out.  He  evi- 
dently stands  on  his  guard  in  such  matters,  and  one 
feels  that  one  cannot  go  on  with  him  further  than  he 
pleases,  without  giving   offence,      la   short."    added 


106  SMALL    TROUBLES    AND 

"Vragstaff,  -who  was  a  great  reader  of  John  Bunyaa, 
"  I  call  him  Mr.  Worldly  Wiseman." 

"  There,"  said  Mr.  Charles  Middleton,  "  you  have 
given  me  his  character  in  a  word.  That  describes  the 
whole  man.  And  is  such  a  man  to  fix  himself  down 
here  for  life,  for  that  is  what  I  dread,  and  are  the  people 
to  be  fed  on  his  chopped  straw,  instead  of  the  living 
aud  inspiring  viands  that  my  friend  Phillips  would 
give  them  ?  I  look  upon  him  in  no  better  light  than 
what  the  Scotch  call  a  "Thigger  and  Sorner."  A  man 
that  has  actually  thrust  himself  in  here,  and  here  means, 
with  or  without  our  consent,  to  establish  himself." 

"  And  in  my  opinion,"  said  Wagstaff,  "  he  will  do 
it.  It  is  wonderful  how  he  has  worked  himself  into 
the  good  graces  of  all  the  gentry  round.  Even  *he 
squire  is  quite  taken  with  him,  and  is  never  easy 
if  he  do  not  regularly  come  in  of  an  evening,  to  his 
chess.  Good  old  Millard  cannot  last  long,  and  then — " 

"  By  Heavens ! "  exclaimed  Charles  Middleton, 
carried  out  of  himself,  by  seeing  all  his  fears  con- 
firmed by  Wagstaff,  "  by  Heavens !  it  never  shall  be, 
if  I  have  power  to  prevent  it !" 

He  made  Wagstaff  promise  to  keep  a  strict  eye  on 
what  went  forward,  and  give  him  the  speediest  intel- 
ligence of  any  new  move.  He  then  hurried  off  to 
his  father,  and  talked  the  matter  over  with  him, 
endeavouring  to  procure  a  promise,  in  case  the  living 
fell  vacant  in  his  time,  for  his  friend  Phillips. 

"  Why,  Charles,"  said  his  father,  "  I  think  you 
are  quite  unreasonable.     I  certainly  should  be  sorrj 


GREAT    CHANGES.  107 

to  do  anything  disagreeable  to  you,  or  prejudicial  to 
your  friend  Phillips ;  but  at  the  same  time,  I  do 
really  think  Mr.  Brandling  a  most  meritorious  young 
man.  Your  prejudice  is,  I  repeat,  unworthy  of  you. 
and  till  you  have  seen  more  of  Mr.  Brandling,  do^ 
not  let  us  say  any  more  on  the  subject.  You  must 
make  yourself  acquainted  with  him,  and  then  if 
your  objections  remain,  I  will  give  my  promise;  till 
then  I  do  not  wish  to  say  more  about  it." 

This  conversation  greatly  increased  Charles's  dislike 
to  the  curate.  He  saw  that  his  father  would  gladly 
give  him  the  living,  if  it  were  left  entirely  to  his 
inclination,  and  he  regarded  Brandling  as  a  cunning 
adventurer,  who  had  crept  most  adroitly  up  the  old 
gentleman's  sleeve.  This  was  enough  to  prevent  his 
making  any  farther  acquaintance  with  him.  He  felt 
a  strong  prejudice  against  him,  and  for  him  to  feel  it, 
was  in  some  degree  to  show  it. 

Mr.  Brandling  appeared  desirous  to  be  on  good 
terms  with  Charles  and  his  wife,  but  he  immediately 
observed  their  coldness,  and  became  himself  cold  and 
reserved  also.  He  was  a  keen  sportsman,  and  the  old 
squire  proposed,  as  a  good  means  of  creating  a  feeling 
of  fellowship,  that  he  should  accompany  his  son  to 
the  marshes  to  shoot  snipes  ;  but  Charles  Middleton 
excused  himself,  on  the  plea  of  of  her  engagements,  and 
the  proposal  was  never  again  renewed  by  the  curate. 

It  was  in  this  state  of  things  that  Mr.  Charles 
Middleton  returned  to  town. 

Time  went  on.     Whenever  Charles  went  down  to 


108  SMALL    TROUBLES    AND 

Middleton,  he  found  the  curate  in  as  high  favour  a9 
ever  with  everybody.  He  always  expressed  his 
wonder  what  people  could  see  in  him,  and  took  care 
to  praise,  on  all  occasions,  before  his  father,  the 
talents  and  virtues  of  his  friend  Phillips.  He  even 
threw  out,  as  a  strong  attack  on  the  old  gentleman, 
how  his  mother  would  have  gloried  in  the  prospect 
of  having  such  a  pastor  for  the  parish. 

"  Well,  and  what  hinders  it,"  the  squire  would 
say,  with  a  tartish  sort  of  manner,  on  such  occasions, 
"  have  I  refused  the  living  to  you  ?" 

During  his  visits,  Mr.  Brandling  seldom  came  in, 
except  to  bring  the  squire  the  paper,  saying  that  as 
he  had  his  son's  society,  he  did  not  need  his  to  cheer 
him  in  an  evening,  but  that  he  would  come  as  soon 
as  he  was  alone  and  needed  it. 

It  was,  in  fact,  and  that  everybody  soon  came  to 
feel,  a  regular  and  understood,  though  unavowed 
contest  between  the  young  squire  and  Mr.  Brandling, 
who  should  be  the  future  rector  of  Middleton. 

Two  years  still  went  on,  when  Wagstaff  wrote  to 
London  to  Charles,  to  say  that  the  old  clergyman 
was  evidently  going  fast,  and  that  Mr.  Middleton 
must  hold  himself  in  readiness  to  come  down  at  a 
moment's  warning,  or  all  would  be  lost.  Nay,  he 
would  recommend  that  he  should  come  down  in 
readiness,  and  stay  till  all  was  over  and  secure.  But 
this  occurred  at  the  period  when  the  contest  for  the 
Reform  Bill  was  at  its  height ;  when  the  very  fate  of 
the  kingdom  for  years  seemed  hangina;  on  a  day ^8 


GREAT   CHANGES.  109 

event,  and  every  man  was  on  the  stretcli  of  intensest 
excitement.  Charles  Middleton  replied,  that  he  could 
not  by  any  possibility  be  away  from  London  for  more 
than  a  day  at  such  a  crisis ;  he  trusted  the  rector 
would  last  till  this  was  over,  when  he  would  come  and 
stay  at  Middleton  as  long  as  necessary,  or  in  case  of 
extremity  he  would  tear  himself  away  and  hurry 
down. 

Scarcely  had  he  dispatched  this  letter,  when 
another  arrived  from  Wagstaff,  announcing  that  the 
rector  was  dead  ;  the  bishop  had  been  with  his  father 
to  solicit  the  living  for  his  nephew,  and  that  Mr. 
Brandling  had  been  himself  to  tell  him  that  he  had 
the  squire's  promise  to  that  effect. 

The  vexation  of  Mr.  Charles  Middleton  at  thi? 
news,  exceeded  all  bounds.  It  was  the  sole  gift  he 
had,  or  was  ever  likely  to  have,  to  bestow  on  his 
friend.  He  had  always  calculated  on  this,  and  till 
lately,  as  on  a  certainty.  He  had  promised  Phillips 
that  it  shonld  be  his  if  it  lay  in  his  power,  of  which 
he  did  not  doubt,  and  he  knew  that  Phillips  had  no 
single  patron  or  hope  of  preferment  besides.  He 
could  not  help  looking  upon  his  father's  giving  it 
away  under  these  circumstances,  as  particularly 
unkind.  He  wrote  and  told  his  father  this,  and  felt 
as  though  he  should  never  be  able  to  bear  the  place 
again.  Towards  the  new  rector,  a  feeling  of  resentment 
and  contempt  as  an  impudent  interloper,  was  intense. 
The  thought  that  this  man  was  for  his  whole  life  to 
bo  planted  in  the  very  spot  of  his  own  abode,  as  an 
10 


^10  SMALL    TROUBLES   AND 

annoyance,  if  not  a  nuisance,  was  more  than  his 
impatience  could  well  bear. 

It  was,  in  fact,  months  before  he  could  endure  the 
thought  of  going  down  to  Middleton  ;  but  then  better 
thoughts  took  the  place  of  his  resentment.  He  deter- 
mined that  nothing  should  make  him  neglect  his  duty 
to  his  father,  or  to  cherish  hard  thoughts  of  him  ;  and 
when  he  went  down  and  saw  how  much  the  old  gentle- 
man had  sunk,  and  heard  from  liim  that  the  Bishop 
had  only  prevailed  on  him  to  give  this  living  to  his 
nephew,  on  a  written  promise  that  one  as  good,  and 
not  more  than  two  miles  distant,  should  be  conferred 
on  his  son's  friend,  Phillips,  when  it  fell  in,  and  the 
incumbent  was  now  near  ninety,  and  very  infirm,  he 
was  much  appeased. 

"  But  why,"  asked  he  nevertheless,  "  colild  not  the 
Bishop  have  given  the  reversion  of  that  living  to  his 
nephew,  and  have  left  this  alone  ?  " 

"  Ah,  my  dear  son  !  "  said  the  old  squire,  smiling, 
"  Bishops  are  mortal  as  well  as  other  men.  The 
Bishop  himself  is  old,  and  I  will  do  Mr.  Brandling  the 
justice  to  say  that  he  is  too  calculating  not  to  prefer 
a  bird  in  the  hand  to  two  in  the  bush.  Not  but  that 
I  thmk  there  is  every  chance  of  the  incumbent  ol 
I^angley  going  before  long.  The  Bishop — but  as  Mr. 
Brandling  says,  if  the  Bishop  should  die  before  I 
get  preferment,  all  my  hopes  die  with  him — and  sure 
IS  doubly  sure." 

"  Hang  him  and  his  proverbs  !"  said  Charles ;  *'  he 
is  Worldly  Wiseman  with  a  vengeance." 


GREAT    CHANGES.  IH 

Fully  as  his  generous  heart  forgave  his  father,  for 
he  saw  that  he  was  fast  sinking,  and  was  evidently  so 
much  weakened  in  mind,  that  it  was  an  easy  matter 
for  the  strong  and  cunning  to  overpower  him,  espe- 
cially when  they,  as  the  new  clergyman  had  done, 
contributed  so  much  to  his  comfort,  he  by  no  means 
abated  his  dislike  to  Mr.  Brandling  himself. 

There  were  also  many  circumstances  which  tended 
rapidly  to  exasperate  his  feelings.  He  and  his  wife 
went  down,  and  continued  at  Middleton,  in  order  tc 
contribute  as  much  as  in  them  lay  to  the  comfort  and 
amusement  of  the  old  squire,  who  grew  very  feeble. 
Here  tliey  were  necessarily  placed,  as  it  were,  as  the 
watchers  of  certain  and  rapid  changes  whichwere 
going  on  at  tlie  rectory. 

Great  numbers  of  workmen  appeared  on  the  ground. 
Old  walls  were  soon  thrown  down;  old  trees,  here 
and  there,  felled.  There  were  men  with  measuring 
lines  and  measuring  tapes,  measuring  here  and 
measuring  there.  Tilers  soon  appeared  astride  the 
roof,  and  the  roof  itself  rapidly  disappeared.  In  fact, 
it  appeared  that  the  whole  place  was  about  to  undergo 
a  thorough  change.  In  the  course  of  the  summer 
this  change  became  very  manifest,  and  went  on  with 
rapid  strides  under  the  hands  of  a  host  of  workmen. 
The  house  was  raised  a  siory,  and  enlarged ;  stables 
and  offices  added,  lodge-gates  put  up,  gardens  au<i 
pleasure-grounds  on  an  ample  scale  were  laid  out 
and,  in  short,  instead  of  the  old  rectory,  a  new  hall, 
rivalling  that  of  the  squire  itself,  rose  on  the  spot. 


112  SMALL    TROUBLES    AND 

The  living  was  one  of  the  richest  in  the  county,  and 
it  was  said  that  by  a  pretty  strict  attention  to  tho 
tithe  claims,  and  Mr.  Brandling  was  not  the  man  to 
neglect  them,  the  income  would  be  trebled.  The 
following  spring  the  house  was  habitable ;  a  consider- 
able establishment  oF  serf-^wits  was  engaged,  the  men 
in  smart  clerical  livery,  and  .ue  rector  was  himself  soon 
after  seen  issuing  from  his  gates  in  a  handsome  chariot 
on  his  way  to  dine  with  a  neighbouring  nobleman. 

All  this  excited  no  trifling  interest  and  talk  in  the 
neighbourhoods  The  poor  praised  the  new  rector 
for  empiji^^'ng  so  many  men,  and  for  engaging  their 
sons  and  d-iughters  as  servants,  but  the  farmers  shook 
their  heads,  and  said  they  knew  very  well  who  was 
to  pay  for  it.  All,  however,  paid  the  most  profound 
respect  to  the  rector  when  they  met  him,  and  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Charles  Middleton  were  not  so  much  above 
the  common  feelings  of  humanity  as  to  witness  this 
without  a  certain  chagrin. 

"  How  different,"  said  they,  "  would  all  this  have 
been  had  poor  Phillips  had  the  living !  We  shall 
now  have  a  proud  priest  instead  of  a  fatherly  pastor  ; 
and  pride  and  worldliness  will  be  infused  into  the 
parish  instead  of  piety." 

A  little  time  showed  that  things  did  not  end  here. 
The  old  squire  died  in  the  autumn,  and  Charles  and 
Mrs.  Middleton,  after  the  funeral,  returned  to  town, 
where  they  meant  to  stay  the  winter.  Here  thoy 
had  scarcely  arrived  when  they  read  in  a  morning 
paper    the    marriage   of    Mr.    Brandling  with  the 


GREAT    CHANGES.  •  113 

youngest  daughter  of  a  neighbouring  nobleman,  and 
soon  after  heard  from  WagstafF  that  he  was  put  into 
the  commission  of  the  peace,  and  now  regularly  offi- 
ciated at  the  justice-room. 

There  is  no  man  who  can  bear  with  indifference  to 
witness  the  growth  of  what  he  regards  as  a  cunning 
and  worthless  upstart,  and  that,  as  it  were,  under  his 
very  eye,  and  least  of  all  a  man  of  such  quick  feelings 
and  contempt  for  mean  natures  and  actions  as  Mr, 
Middleton.  Of  all  things  he  detested  the  union  of 
clergyman  and  magistrate. 

"  How  can  this  man,"  said  he  to  his  wife,  "  preach 
with  proper  effect  to  people  whom  he  plagues  with 
warrants  and  mittimusses?  How  talk  to  them  of 
love  and  loving-kindness,  when  he  is  fining  and  im- 
prisoning them  for  the  petty  capture  of  hares  and  par- 
tridges ?  And  as  for  ourselves,  dear  Edith,"  he  would 
add,  "we  are  become  mere  cyphers  on  our  estate. 
"What  are  we  to  this  great  and  reverend  divine  ?  " 

"  What  are  we !"  would  his  wife  reply  ,  "  you  are 
Charles  Middleton,  and  I  am  his  wife !  and  I  would 
not  change  these  titles  for  the  proudest  in  the  coun- 
try I  My  dear  Charles,"  she  would  say,  putting  her 
arm  round  his  neck,  and  kissing  him,  '*  you  ai-e  not 
yourself  as  regards  this  man." 

"  Really  it  is  great  folly,"  he  would  reply  with  a 
smile ;  "  but  when  I  think  that  we  might  have  had 
PhUlips  here,  I  am  very  far  from  a  Christian." 

It  was  just  at  this  crisis  of  affairs,  and  while  he 
was  very  irritable  about  everything  at  Middleton  thaA 


114  SMALL    TROUBLES    AND 

he  recei  \'ed  a  letter  from  his  bankers  in  Stockington, 
sxpressing  great  regret  that  Mr.  Middleton  should 
have  thought  it  necessary  to  withdraw  his  money  and 
countenance  from  their  bank.  They  added,  that  they 
hoped  it  was  indeed  not  his  own  act,  but  that  of  his 
steward,  of  whom  they  would  not  wish  to  give  Mr. 
Middleton  any  unjust  cause  of  suspicion,  but  they  did 
tliink  it  only  their  duty,  as  a  firm  which  had  been 
so  long  and  so  much  honoured  by  the  favour  of  Mr. 
Middleton's  family,  to  say  that  there  were  strange 
reports  of  the  close  proceedings  of  this  man,  who, 
though  he  wore  a  very  fair  face  to  his  employer,  was 
well  known  in  a  few  years  to  be  grown  from  nothing 
to  actual  wealth,  and,  if  rumour  were  correct,  was,  at 
that  moment,  making  very  extensive  secret  invest- 
ments in  the  north. 

"Vipers!"  exclaimed  Charles  Middleton,  as  he- 
read  this  letter  thus  far,  and  flinging  it  on  the  floor : 
"  What  !  do  they  think  to  make  me  believe  Wag- 
Btaff^  to  be  a  villain  ?  As  soon  would  I  believe  the 
rector  of  Middleton  a  Fenelon  !  " 

He  crushed  the  letter  with  his  heel,  and  then 
kicked  it  from  him  as  he  went  out  of  the  room.  He 
never  designed  to  take  further  notice  of  it  or  the 
writer,  till  some  months  afterwards,  first  one  and 
then  another  anonymous  letter,  with  different  post- 
marks and  in  different  handwritings,  reached  him, 
containing  hints  that  Mr.  Middleton,  whose  generous 
and  un  uspicious  character  was  well  knouTi,  would  do 
well  to  look  into  his  state  of  affairs  in  the  country. 


GREAT   CHANGES.  lift 

"  There  is  some  cursed  plot  here ! "  said  he  one 
da}'',  laying  these  letters  before  his  wife  ;  "  I  must  see 
into  it,  or  they  who  write  these  letters  will  not  fail 
to  use  other  means  to  destroy  the  character  of  an 
honest  man.  Or  can  it  be  that  I  am  really  too  con- 
fiding in  human  nature  ?  Can  AVagstafF  have  proved 
80  weak  as  to  let  the  temptations  of  money  corrupt 
his  naturally  noble  nature  !  I  regret  now  that  I 
destroyed  that  detestable  letter  from  the  banker." 

"  Here  it  is,"  said  Mrs.  Middleton,  who  had  the 
peculiar  practice  of  keeping  all  papers  in  the  greatest 
order,  and  never,  if  possible,  destroying  a  letter , 
"  it  was  found  under  the  sofa,  and  brought  to  me. 
But,  dear  Charles,  banish  every  suspicion  of  Mr."SVag- 
stafF;  1  will  answer  for  him  as  I  would  for  my  own 
soul.  Go  down  at  once,  dearest,  and  know  the  truth." 

"  Thank  you,  dear  Edith,  for  that  word  !  "  said 
her  husband,  looking  into  her  face  with  a  smile  of  the 
sunniest  delight ;  "  I  will  be  off  this  very  day,  for  to 
think  that  Seth  Wagstaff  were  capable  of  a  flaw  or  taint 
of  corruption,  would  destroy  my  faith  even  in  myself." 

He  instantly  set  off,  and  travelling  all-night  by 
coach,  posted  from  Derby  early  in  the  morning,  and 
appeared,  to  the  general  surprise,  thus  unexpectedly 
and  unattended,  at  Middleton  before  nine  o'clock. 
He  ordered  the  housekeeper  to  have  breakfast  imme- 
diately prepared,  and  having  dispatched  it,  walked 
over  to  Seth  WagstafF's.  Seth  was  as  much  surprised 
as  all  others  had  been  who  had  seen  him,  and  asked 
if  anything  serious  had  occurred. 


116  SMALL    TROUBLES    AND 

"  Look  at  these,"  said  Mr.  Middleton,  laying  dowi 
the  letters  concerning  Wagstaff  before  him — the 
banker's  letter  uppermost.  WagstafF  first  took  up 
one  and  then  another,  and  read  them  in  silence,  while 
Charles  Middleton  stood  by  and  watched  his  coun- 
teuance.  At  first  there  was  a  flush  as  of  painful  sur- 
prise on  his  brow  as  he  read  the  bankers',  but  a3  he 
went  through  the  following  ones,  a  paleness  spread 
over  his  features,  which,  before  he  had  finished  the 
perusal,  became  ghastly  and  sickly.  Charles  ?»Iid- 
dleton  could  see  that  his  hand  shook  as  he  held  the 
papers,  and  his  teeth,  though  he  strove  to  fix  all  his 
features  firmly,  chattered  in  his  head. 

Mr.  Middleton  himself  became  pale  as  he  witnessed 
the  struggle.  "  Can  this  be  ? "  said  he  to  himself. 
"  Can  this  man  then  really  have  fallen  V 

As  AVigstafF  closed  the  last  letter  he  laid  it  down 
in  silence,  sank  into  a  chair,  and  laying  his  face  in 
his  hands,  burst  into  a  convulsion  of  tears. 

Mr.  Middleton  felt  himself  to  tremble  from  head 
to  foot,  and  a  most  miserable  feeling  oppressed  him. 
It  was  not  anger ;  he  gave  not  a  moment's  thought  to 
what  extent  he  might  have  been  injured,  but  it  was 
the  deadly  anguish  of  believing  a  noble  nature  de- 
stroyed by  the  base  influences  of  the  world. 

"  Have  you  nothing  to  say  to  these  letters,  "\Vag" 
staff?"  at  length  he  asked. 

"  Say  !  "  returned  Wagstaff",  rising  up  with  a  face 
no  longer  pale,  but  burning  with  a  crimson  glow  of 
passion — "  to  say  !  yes  !   that  they  are  the  work  of  a 


GREAT    CHANGES.  117 

devil*  "ilr.  Middleton,  they  are  false,  they  are— ^ 
but,  my  God!  that  you  have  thus  for  a  moment 
credited  them.  Can  you  for  a  month — for  the  first 
letter  is  so  long  ago  dated — have  been  entertaining 
such  thoughts  of  me  ?" 

"  Thank  God  that  you  are  innocent  !  "  cried  Mr. 
Middleton.  "Oh,  what  a  weight  have  you  taken  from 
ray  heart,  WagstafF!  No,  I  could  not  believe  you 
guilty — I  could  not  believe  it,  WagstafF.  That  in- 
fernal letter  I  trod,  as  it  deserved,  under  my  feet,  and 
it  was  only  on  the  receipt  of  the  last  of  these  name- 
less and  Satanic  things  that  I  determined  to  come  down 
and  throw  them  before  you." 

As  he  said  this,  WagstafF 's  colour  changed  again, 
and  again  sinking  in  a  chair,  he  gave  way  to  another 
fit  of  crying. 

"  Be  a  man,  Seth !"  said  Mr.  Middleton,  kindly  : 
*'  Wliy  do  you  thus  agitate  yourself?  There  is  no 
need  for  such  distress;  and,  indeed,  your  emotion  for  a 
moment  gave  me  a  feeling  that  I  would  not  again 
experience  for  my  whole  estate  ;  it  almost  made  me 
imagine  what  your  enemies  never  have  and  never  can." 

Seth  rose  up  at  once,  and  wiped  the  tears  from  his 
face. 

"  It  is  not  the  vile  papers,"  said  he,  speaking  with 
all  the  honest  indignation  of  innocence,  "  which  dis- 
turbed me — they  are  soon  disposed  of;  but  it  was  the 
idea  that  shot  through  me  that  you  had  believed  them, 
that  you  and  Mrs.  Middleton  believed  me  a  villain." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  returned  Mr.  Middleton,  "  my 


118  SMALL    TROUBLES    AND 

hastening  hither,  and  putting  them  into  your  hands, 
may  assure  you  that  that  was  not  the  case  :  as  to  my 
wife" — here  he  repeated  her  words,  and  the  warm 
emphasis  she  had  used ;  but  at  these  words  poor 
Seth's  tears  again  hurst  forth  in  a  fresh  stream,  and 
rushing  out  of  the  room,  Mr.  Middleton  saw  him 
hurry  down  the  garden,  and  traverse  the  shady  long 
walk  at  the  bottom  to  and  fro  with  hasty  steps.  At 
one  time  he  paused  behind  a  bush  for  a  few  moments, 
and  Mr.  j\Iiddleton,  who  had  risen  to  the  window,  saw 
him  in  the  act  of  prayer ;  he  then  moved  on,  and  with 
a  calm  and  more  measured  step  returned  to  tlie  house. 

"  Excuse  my  weakness,  sir,"  said  he,  on  entering, 
"  I  am  now  myself  again  ;  let  us  proceed  to  business." 

He  then  handed  Mr.  Middleton  a  chair,  and  seat- 
ing himself  at  his  writing-table,  proceeded  to  explain 
all  that  the  letters  could  refer  to  in  the  most  metho- 
dical and  clear  manner.  In  the  first  place,  Wagstaff 
reminded  him  of  the  entire  confidence  he  had  placed 
in  him,  and  that  he  had  given  him  the  most  fuU 
authority  to  make  investments  of  any  surplus  capital 
as  he  considered  most  advantageous,  giving  him  credit 
for  a  better  knowledge  of  them  than  he  himself 
possessed,  and  only  requiring  that  each  half-year  a 
statement  of  affairs  should  be  submitted  to  him,  and 
all  books  be  in  readiness  to  refer  to,  whenever  he 
should  think  necessary.  He  then  added,  that  the 
balance  in  the  bank  had  become  very  large,  and  that 
as  within  the  last  six  months  certain  matters  had 
come  to  his  knowledge,  which  placed  the  affairs  of  the 


OREAT    CHANGES.  119 

bank  in  no  very  favourable  li.ght,  he  had  deemed  it 
his  duty  to  withdraw  the  balance ;  but,  in  order  not 
unnecessarily  to  embarrass  the  firm,  he  had  done  this 
by  easy  instalments  and  at  considerable  intervals. 

This  money,  he  went  on  to  state,  he  had  invested 
In  certain  gas  and  water-works  in  a  northern  town, 
where  the  security  was  most  unquestionable,  and  the 
interest  would  certainly  be  ten  per  cent. 

He  then  laid  before  him  all  the  papers  and  corre- 
spondence connected  with  this  business,  and  laid  before 
him  also  the  book  in  which  this  capital  was  entered 
in  the  inventory  of  the  Middleton  property.  Nothing 
could  be  more  regular  or  satisfactory. 

"  That  I  may,"  said  ^T^agstafF,  "  have  made  ene- 
mies among  speculative  men,  who  now  see  tlie  value 
of  these  investments,  is  possible  ;  but  my  opinion  is 
that  all  these  anonymous  letters  proceed  from  the 
bankers." 

He  then  stated  that  it  was  true  that  he  had  acquired 
a  handsome  property. 

"  That  is  no  business  of  mine,  "Wagstaff,"  said 
Mr.  Middleton,  interrupting  him.  "  What  you  have 
I  am  sure  is  your  own,  and  honestly  got,  to  a  stiver, 
and  may  God  bless  you  with  it :  but  1  desire  to  pry 
into  none  of  your  private  affairs." 

"  No,"  said  he,  earnestly,  "  excuse  me,  it  is  not  for 
any  satisfaction  of  yours,  but  of  my  own.  1  can  have 
no  money  affairs  which  should  be  any  secret  between 
us.  What  I  have  I  owe  to  the  kindness  of  your 
father  and  yourself,  and  I  am  proud  to  acknowledge 


120  SMALL    TROUBLES    AND 

it.  But  that  no  one  malicious  person  may  be  able  td 
say  again  that  I  have  what  you  know  not  of,  let  mo 
beg  you  to  see  a  statement  of  my  affairs." 

On  this  Mr.  Middleton  reseated  himself,  and  in  a 
few  minutes  Seth  showed  him  to  a  penny  what  he 
was  worth.  It  was  a  handsome  sum,  but  all  the 
sources  from  which  it  flowed  were  so  clear,  so 
honourable,  and  so  well  deserved,  from  the  indus- 
try, good  sense,  and  economy  by  which  it  was 
amassed,  that,  on  rismg,  Mr.  Middleton  took  his  hand 
in  both  his. 

"  Honest  Wagstaff,"  said  he,  "  I  am  a  prouder  aad 
a  happier  man  than  I  know  how  to  express.  Proud 
to  possess  the  friendship  and  the  services  of  a  man 
like  you,  and  happy  to  be  able  to  contribute  in  any 
degree  to  the  prosperity  of  such  a  man.  For  these 
evil-intentioned  bankers,  write  simply  to  theni  that  I 
have  handed  this  letter  to  you,  and  begged  you  to 
acknowledge  its  receipt." 

If  there  were  two  men  on  the  face  of  the  earth  who 
that  day  might  be  envied,  they  were  Mr.  Middleton 
and  his  steward. 

The  moment  Mr.  Middleton  was  gone,  WagstafF 
hastened  to  tell  his  wife  all  that  had  passed,  and  Mr. 
Middleton  only  went  away  to  sit  down  and  write  an 
account  of  it  to  his  wife.  That  done,  he  felt  that  he 
wanted  some  fresh  vent  to  his  feelings,  and  he  marched 
off  now  to  different  cottages,  especially  to  those  of 
old  pensioners  of  his  mother,  and  sat  down,  and  in- 
q?nred  how  they  were,  and  how  they  got  on,  in  so 


GREAT    CHANGES.  121 

kind  a  manner,  that  they  all  declared  they  had  never 
seen  the  young  squire  so  pleasant  in  all  their  days 
before,  nor  so  much  the  picture  of  his  blessed  mother. 
Wherever  he  went,  he  left  glad  hearts  and  a  hand- 
some gift  behind  him. 

But  if  people  were  charmed  with  the  squire's  calls 
on  them,  they  were  not  a  little  surprised  to  see  him 
go  also  up  to  the  rectory  and  enter  there.  The  fact 
was,  in  the  course  of  his  visits  to  the  cottages,  he  had 
heard  of  so  much  good  done  by  the  rector,  and  espe- 
cially by  his  lady,  that  his  heart  smote  him  as  if  he 
were  really  doing  some  injustice  in  that  quarter.  He 
was  in  a  mood  to  forget  and  to  forgive  all  injury 
against  him  in  this  world.  He  recollected  the  present 
rector's  wife  as  a  young  and  laughing  gui  at  her 
father's,  though  he  had  never  seen  much  of  her ;  and 
he  resolved  to  sink  all  his  past  feelings  towards  her 
husband,  and  to  see  what  they  both  really  were. 

That  they  were  both  greatly  surprised  may  be 
believed,  but  they  received  him  with  evident  gratifi- 
cation. He  stated  frankly  that  he  had  felt  much 
chagrined  by  Mr.  Brandling's  succeeding  in  securing 
the  place  which  he  had  held  sacredly  for  his  friend, 
but  that  there  was  a  proper  limit  to  such  feelings  ;  and 
what  he  had  heard  that  morning  from  various  quar- 
ters had  determined  him  at  once  to  seek  a  better 
acquaintance  with  them. 

The  rector  acknowledged  tlvat  he  had,  perhaps, 
been  too  eager  in  his  desire  to  push  himself  in  the 
world,  but  that  he  did  not  know,  when  he  first  cast 
11 


122  SMALL   TROUBLES    AND 

his  eyes  on  this  living,  that  Mr.  Middleton  had  it  ill 
view  for  so  dear  a  friend  ;  and  there  had  been  induce*- 
ments  for  him  to  press  on,  and  perseveringly,  in  this 
locality,  "  which  were  more  powerful" — here  he  cast 
a  look  at  his  wife — "  than  had  been  his  consideration 
of  other  circumstances."  He  begged  sincerely  that 
Mr.  Middleton  would  excuse  what  in  this  had  hurt 
him,  and  assured  him  that  he  would  use  every  means 
in  his  power  to  secure  the  interests  of  his  friend." 

In  the  mood  in  which  Mr.  Middleton  then  was,  this 
candour  worked  wonderfully  upon  him.  He  really 
began  to  think  the  rector  quite  a  pleasant  man,  clever 
man  of  the  world  though  he  might  be ;  and  then  his 
wife — he  was  perfectly  charmed  with  her.  It  was 
impossible  to  see  her  without  acknowledging  that  she 
was  a  very  lovely  and  fascinating  woman.  In  fact, 
she  was  a  thoroughly  kind-hearted  and  accomplished 
lady,  of  great  ease  and  sweetness  of  manners;  and 
Mr.  Middleton  could  not  help  believing  that  her  mind 
and  influence  had  greatly  and  most  advantageously 
wrought  on  her  husband.  They  parted  on  both  sides 
evidently  delighted  at  the  interview. 

Mr.  Middleton  wrote  again  to  his  wife,  begging  her 
to  come  down  at  once.  He  was  eager  to  introduce 
her  to  Mrs.  Brandling,  for  he  felt  sure  she  would  find 
a  friend  in  her. 

The  result  of  all  was,  that  Mrs.  Middleton  was  as 
much  charmed  with  the  rector's  lady  as  her  husband 
was.  The  husbands  themselves  soon  were  on  the 
most  friendly  terms.     They  shot  together,  and  rode 


GREAT    CHANGES.  123 

together ;  and  Mr.  Middleton,  who  was  now  looking 
for  nothing  more  than  "  a  gentleman"  in  Mr.  Brand- 
ling, soon  felt  that,  with  all  his  self-seeking,  he  bad 
really  much  good  nature  in  him.  The  two  ladies 
went  hand  in  hand  in  all  their  projects  for  the  good 
of  the  people.  j\Irs.  Brandling  had  a  very  loving 
heart  as  well  as  elegant  mind,  and  soon  clung  to  Mrs. 
Middleton  as  to  a  sister. 

Whatever  the  squire  or  his  lady  p/oposed  to  do  for 
the  general  good  was  sure  to  be  warmly  seconded  by 
the  rector  and  his  lady.  A  school  was  set  on  foot  by 
the  ladies,  for  which  the  two  husbands  jointly  built  a 
house ;  and  work  and  instruction  in  work  were  distri- 
buted through  the  parish  in  such  a  manner,  that  even 
in  the  time  of  the  late  Mrs.  Middleton  the  poor  were 
never  so  well  off,  or  their  children  so  well  taught. 

During  this  period  Mr.  Middleton  resumed  his 
acquaintance  with  many  of  the  surrounding  families  ; 
amongst  them  with  that  of  Lord  Forrester,  who  had 
now  a  handsome  wife,  and  a  troop  of  handsome  chil- 
dren. He  had  made  a  good  figure  in  parliament,  and 
was  a  man  of  great  weight  in  the  country,  and  to  the 
Conservative  interest.  Everywhere  tlie  Middletons 
were  received  with  the  honour  which  their  well- 
known  talents  and  virtues  entitled  them  to ;  and  in 
the  sunshine  of  such  kindness,  he  was  glad  to  acknow- 
ledge that,  in  the  sweet  retirements  of  his  native 
neighbourhood,  there  was  to  be  found  much  to  love 
and  to  esteem. 

Even  to  Sir  Henry  "W'ilmot  he  did  not  refuse  to 


124  UTOPIA    DISCOVERED. 

extend  his  hand  when  they  met.  He  had  learned 
that  Sir  Henry  had  suffered  much  in  his  domestic 
life,  the  consequence  of  that  deceit  which  he  had  put 
on  his  wife  with  regard  to  Middleton's  affection  for 
her.  This  had  come  to  her  knowledge,  and  if.  had  for 
a  time  overset  her  reason,  and  nearly  cost  her  her 
life.  Her  health  had  suffered  many  years,  but  the 
contrition  and  the  passionate  affection  shown  by  her 
husband  towards  her  through  all,  had  finally  produced 
a  great  change  in  her  feelings  towards  him.  She  had 
recovered  her  health  in  a  great  measure,  and  she  had 
exercised  a  strikingly  beneficial  influence  on  Sir 
Henry's  disposition,  which  was  made  to  be  guided ; 
and,  amid  her  children,  seemed  no  longer  a  person  to 
be  pitied. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

UTOPIA  DISCOVERED. 

The  circumstances  related  in  the  last  chapter  have 
brought  us  now  to  the  middle-life  of  Charles  Middle- 
ton.  Time  and  much  intercourse  with  the  world, 
though  it  had  corrected  some  of  his  Utopian  notions 
of  human  nature,  had  not  in  the  least  dimmed  his 
admiration  of  whatever  was  noble,  or  his  contempt  for 
what  was  mean. 

Mrs.  Middleton,  who,  with  equai  quickness  of 
feeling,  had  not  the  same  impetuosity  of  passion  with 
himself,  had  often  managed  to  soften  down  his  resent- 


UTOPIA    DISCOVERED.  125 

ments,  and  to  give  him  time  to  reflect  that  it  was  not 
worth  while  to  waste  his  emotions  on  natures  which 
■were  not  capable  of  being  altered  by  them.  She  had 
often  reminded  him,  with  good  effect,  of  his  amuse- 
ment at  the  account  given  by  Hezekiah  Godkin,  the 
village  saddler,  of  his  adventures  in  the  purchase  of 
an  ass,  which,  though  he  had  bought,  he  found  impos- 
sible to  bring  home.  After  various  tricks  and  fits  of 
desperate  stubbornness,  it  at  length  trotted  into  the 
middle  of  a  pool,  with  poor  Hezekiah  on  its  back, 
where  it  stood  stock  still,  and  whence  neither  kicks 
nor  blows 'could  move  it.  "My  wrath,"  said  the 
unlucky  saddler,  "  was  roused  to  a  terrible  pitch.  I 
dismounted  and  vowed  to  kill  it ;  but  as  I  drew  my 
knife,  I  suddenly  bethought  myself  that  the  creature 
was  but  an  ass :  so  I  gave  it  a  kick,  and  left  it  to  be 
the  p'ague  of  somebody  else." 

The  Middletons  had  often  laughed,  and  said  Heze- 
kiah's  philosophy  was  the  only  one  to  be  observed 
with  asses ;  and  a  word  from  Mrs.  Middleton  would 
often  bring  this  to  her  husband's  mind. 

"  You  are  right,  Edith,"  he  would  say  ;  "  they  are 
no  better  than  the  saddler's  beast.  I  will  preserve 
my  own  peace  of  mind,  and  leave  them  to  be  the  plague 
of  somebody  else." 

No  two  beings,  perhaps,  ever  were  better  suited,  or 
had  enjoyed  move  happiness,  than  Charles  and  Edith 
Middleton.  In  taste,  in  feeling,  in  love  of  whatever 
vras  intellectual,  and  in  desires  for  the  advance  of 
humanity,  they  were  but  as  one  heart  and  one  soul  j 


]26  UTOPIA    DISCOVERED. 

and  yet,  as  no  mortal,  or  mortal  pair,  arc  perfect^ 
there  was  one  point  on  which  they  were  only  too  much 
alike.  AVith  all  their  sense  and  all  their  experience, 
they  were  for  ever  looking  out  for  something  Utopian, 
if  not  in  individuals,  in  whatever  was  to  them  new 
and  untried ;  they  were  too  uncalculating  in  many 
cases  where  calculation  would  have  saved  them  much 
vexation,  and  too  confiding  where  suspicion  would 
have  been  the  conservative  virtue.  They  were  too 
apt  to  see  things  in  a  poetical  light,  and  not  in  the 
plain  common  sense  one.  They  were  always  glad  to 
see  good  in  people,  and  did  not  always  wait  to  see 
whether  that  good  was  genuine,  or  whether  it  was 
not  mixed  up  with  an  amount  of  evil  or  of  folly, 
vv'hich  often  made  intercourse  with  such  persona 
extremely  dangerous.  Had  the  old  rector  been  alive, 
he  would  have  said  that  all  this  came  from  not  study- 
ing of  mathematics. 

Twenty  years,  however,  of  their  married  life  had 
passed  on — twenty  years  of  singular  usefulness,  indus- 
try, and  felicity.  They  had  not  been  exempt  from 
the  trials  and  disappointments  of  human  life.  They 
had  lost  several  children,  and  their  only  surviving  one 
was  a  daughter,  now  about  sixteen. 

Lucy — as  she  was  called  after  her  aunt — was  a 
fair  and  lovely  girl — a  perfect  compound  and  embo- 
diment of  the  qualities  and  tastes  of  her  parents 
The  oame  quickness  and  ardour  of  feeling — the  samt 
admiration  of  everything  beautiful  in  nature  or  in  intel- 
lect— the  same  scorn  of  mean  natures.     The  quality 


fTTOPIA    DISCOVERED.  127 

of  good  sense  she  might  be  said  to  possess  in  an  extra* 
ordinary  degree  for  her  age.  She  had  seen  a  vast 
deal  of  society  and  variety  of  human  character,  as  a 
mere  child ;  for  she  had  been  always  the  companion 
of  her  parents,  and  brought  into  the  circle  of  their 
guests.  She  had,  therefore,  been  disciplined  in  an 
experience  which  gave  her  an  air  and  tone  of  mind 
beyond  her  years.  She  had  heard  so  much  discussed 
and  talked  of,  and  had  read  so  much,  or  heard  so 
much  of  the  books  read  by  her  parents,  that  her 
judgment  had  acquired  a  degree  of  maturity  that 
made  people  forget  that  it  was  with  one  scarcely  more 
than  a  child  with  whom  they  were  conversing. 

It  was  a  matter  of  the  greatest  satisfaction  to  her 
parents  to  see  the  sound  and  pure  taste  which  she 
universally  displayed  in  all  matters  of  poetry  and  art, 
and  still  more,  that  with  all  the  vivacity  and  merri- 
ment of  a  young  girl,  and  love  for  the  amusements  of 
the  young,  shp  was  still  more  attached  to  whatever 
was  solid  and  domestic.  She  was  now  become  tiieir 
greatest  companion — especially  so  of  Mrs.  Middleton, 
who  seemed  rather  her  affectionate  elder  sister  than 
her  mother,  so  complete  was  the  union  of  feeling 
and  confidence  between  them. 

In  the  plans  now  in  progress  for  Lucy's  education  ; 
that  of  giving  her  a  thorough  grounding  in  the  most 
useful  and  elegant  languages  of  the  Continent ;  French, 
Italian,  and  German,  formed,  of  course,  a  part.  The 
taste  for  the  latter,  which  within  a  few  years  had  so 
liecidcdly  shown  itself,  and  the  wealth  of  literature 


128  UTOPIA    DISCOVERED. 

and  learning  in  various  departments  which  it  was  now 
known  to  contain,  induced  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Middleton 
to  commence  the  study  of  it  at  the  same  time  with 
their  daughter.  With  their  characteristic  imagina- 
tiveness, they  became  speedily  captivated  with  this 
study.  It  seemed  to  open  a  new  and  a  primitive 
world  to  them.  The  first  book  put  into  their  hand 
by  their  teacher,  who  was  also  a  young  English  friend 
of  theirs,  as  enthusiastic  respecting  Germany  and 
German  literature  as  themselves,  was  Grimm's  Kin- 
der und  Haus  Marchen.  The  simple  and  old- 
fashioned  language  of  these  stories  went  at  once  to 
their  hearts,  and  through  the  whole  region  of  their 
fancy.  There  was  such  homely  picturesqueness  and 
pathos  in  it :  they  were  never  weary  of  remarking  on 
and  pointing  out  the  words  which  were  still  those  of 
our  own  speech.  But  if  the  language  delighted  them, 
how  much  more  did  the  stories  themselves.  Here 
was  a  new  and  delicious  world,  indeed  !  Old  forests ; 
people  as  simple  as  our  very  Saxon  ancestors  them- 
selves, abounding  in  and  believing  in  the  most  simple 
of  legends  and  supernatural  agencies.  It  seemed  to 
them  a  very  fairy-land  of  old-fashioned  simplicity, 
and  they  thought  what  a  charm  there  must  be  in 
rambling  among  such  a  peasantry,  and  sitting  by  their 
fire-sides,  and  listening  to  stories  such  as  these  !  They 
read  Tieck's  Tales,  and  Herder's  Legends,  and  many 
others,  and  their  impressions  were  only  confirmed. 
Then  came  the  Life  of  Jung  Stilling,  and  completed  the 
impression.     Here  was  a  peasant  of  the  very  present 


UTOPIA    DISCOVERED.  129 

Bge,  the  son  of  a  poor  tailor,  who  had  raised  himself 
to  fame  and  high  station  by  his  talents  and  virtues. 
What  a  fine  old  fellow  was  that  brave-hearted  old 
grandfather  of  his,  Eberhard  Stilling !  who  would  not 
wish  to  be  acquainted  with  such  men?  Then  they 
plunged  into  the  poetry  of  Herder,  Goethe,  and  Schil- 
ler, and  found  equal  charms  in  it.  AVhat  a  pathos,  a 
deep  feeling,  and,  at  the  same  time,  what  a  limning 
of  a  state  of  things  so  much  more  unsophisticated  than 
with  us  !  They  read  of  the  little  Court  of  "Weimar, 
whose  princes  and  literati  lived  together  in  a  new  state 
of  harmony  and  equality ;  and  concluded  that,  in 
high,  as  in  low  life,  this  beautiful  simplicity  prevailed. 
They  had  entertained  the  idea  of  spending  some 
years  in  France  and  Italy,  that  their  daughter  might 
make  herself  thoroughly  mistress  of  these  languages 
by  intercourse  with  the  natives  themselves ;  why  not 
then  also  hasten  at  once  to  Germany,  where,  in  the 
first  instance,  this  new  German  world  of  primitive 
goodness  and  splendid  literature  might  be  equally  their 
own  ?  Scarcely  was  the  idea  suggested  than  it  was 
adopted.  All  their  arrangements  were  made  for 
sojourn  of  some  years  abroad ;  and  we  must  now  see 
them,  wrapped,  alas !  in  a  poetical  delusion,  sailing 
up  the  Rhine.  Anon,  and  they  were  driving  onwarda 
towards  Plauderheim,  charmed  at  eveiy  step,  and 
with  not  one  fair  fancy  of  this  land  of  promise  shaken 
a3  yet 


l«l 


CHAPTER  X. 

ADVENTURES   IN"    A    GERMAN    LODGING-HOUSE. 

The  weather  was  splendid,  and  the  Middletons 
sallied  forth  to  make,  like  all  other  trav(!llers,  an 
early  visit  to  the  old  castle,  and  were,  of  course — 
as  who  is  not  ? — enraptured  with  the  same.  The  city, 
the  river,  the  wide-stretching  plain,  and  the  woody 
hills  and  vineyards  around.  The  more  they  saw  of 
this  lovely  neighbourhood,  the  more  they  were 
charmed  with  it. 

"  Why  need  we  go  farther  for  the  present  ?**  said 
they  ;  "  let  us  settle  down  here." 

The  next  day  they  were  conducted  to  a  large  house 
without  the  city  gate,  belonging  to  one  "\Fidow 
Picket.  The  widow  was  not  at  home,  but  two  of 
her  daughters  were,  the  eldest  bordering  on  forty, 
with  a  curious  mahogany  complexion  and  red  hair  ; 
the  other  red-haired  likewise,  but  much  younger ; 
ana  under  the  conduct  of  these  two,  the  Middletons 
surveyed  the  place  which  was  proposed  for  their 
future  residence.  The  rooms  were  spacious,  aifd 
looked  across  the  river  to  vine- clad  hills  on  the 
other  side.  At  the  back,  ascended  a  steep  wooded 
hill,  with  zigzag  walks,  so  as  to  conduct,  by  a  tole- 
rably easy  ascent,  to  the  castle  ;  and,  from  the  upper 
part  of  the  wood,  a  pleasant  view  of  the  valley  and 
town  presented  itself.     In  the  garden  a  fouatain 


ADVENTURES  IN  A  GERMAN  LODGING-HOUSE.       13l 

Was  playing,  the  sun  was  shining  glowingly  over  all, 
and  they  promised  themselves  much  enjoyment  in 
the  place. 

Having  settled  themselves  down,  they  made  excur- 
sions, day  after  day,  into  the  neighbouring  hills  and 
country,  and  were  more  and  more  delighted  with 
them.  They  now  engaged  masters  for  their  daughter, 
and  commenced  anew  with  her  a  thorough  study  of 
the  language,  and  soon  deeply  interested  in  their 
studies  which  were  to  prepare  them  for  better  in- 
tercourse with  the  natives,  and  never  weary  with 
driving  and  strolling  about  the  neighbourhood,  they 
thought  themselves  for  the  time  Very  fortunate  in 
their  location. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  they  were  not  a  little 
startled  by  the  entrance  of  a  person  into  their  break- 
fast-room one  morning,  announcing  herself  as  widow 
Picket,  who  had  the  night  before  returned  from  a 
watering-place  with  her  second  daughter,  a  fearfully 
slender  young  lady,  with  fearfully  weak  eyes,  who 
accompanied  her  on  this  morning  call,  and  who  was 
introduced  as  Thusnelda  Adelaide  Elizabetta ;  and, 
by  the  bye,  we  may  as  well  here  remark,  that  the 
Germans  are  as  fond  of  long  names  as  the  Spaniards  ; 
as  the  names  of  the  Pickets  may  testify,  the  eldest 
being  Hedwig  Charlotte  Elizabetta,  the  youngest  Wil- 
helmina  Maria  Elizabetta.  But  tlie  Middletons,  on 
the  morning  of  this  call,  were  not  thinking  so  much 
about  names  as  about  the  unpleasant  impression 
which  the  widow  Picket  made  upon  them.     She  was 


1,32  ADVENTURES    IN    A 

a  somewhat  tall,  pale,  hook-nosed  lady,  with  a  lack* 
a-daisical  air,  and  who,  with  her  head  first  on  one 
side  and  then  on  the  other,  amid  sundry  low  bows, 
spoke  in  a  whining  and  nasal  tone. 

This  was  anything  but  the  face  of  an  honest,  sim- 
ple-hearted, simple-minded  German.  For  a  moment, 
the  whole  of  Utopia  was  in  danger  ;  but  their  second 
thoughts  corrected  this.  Mrs.  Picket  was  only  a 
lodging-house-keeper — no  specimen  of  the  brave  and 
unsophisticated  German — they  would  be  civil  to  her, 
but  have  no  intercourse  with  her.  These  were  the 
thoughts  which  passed  through  the  minds  of  the 
Middle  tons  for  the  first  five  minutes  ;  what  then  were 
their  surprise  and  annoyance  when  Mrs.  Picket  went 
on  to  inform  them,  that,  as  they  were  strangers  in  the 
country,  she  begged  to  make  some  explanations,  which 
might  prevent  them  falling  into  mistakes,  which  the 
English,  from  the  very  difference  of  their  customs,  were 
very  apt  to.  In  the  first  and  most  important  place, 
although  she  let  part  of  her  house,  she  was  no  common 
lodging-house-keeper,  but  a  lady  of  rank  and  com- 
petent fortune ;  and  then  she  ran  over  a  list  of  learned 
professors  and  doctors,  and  even  barons,  of  great 
wealth,  who  did  the  same.  Her  house,  she  said,  wos 
not  only  larger  than  she  wanted,  but  she  felt  it  an 
additional  comfort  and  security,  seeing  she  was  a 
•widow  with  daughters,  to  have  a  family  in  it.  She 
then  ran  over  a  list  of  various  English  names,  some 
of  high  note,  who,  she  said,  had  been  her  inmates, 
and  with  whom  she  had  lived  on  terms  of  great  intn 


GERMAN    LODGING-HOUSE.  133 

macy,  and  ended  all  by  proposing  that  the  same 
friendly  intercourse  should  exist  between  them  and 
herself,  and  more  especially  as  her  daughters  could 
be  instrumental  in  teaching  Miss  Middleton,  or  even 
the  whole  family,  German. 

The  Middletons,  among  themselves,  laughed  at  first 
at  the  idea  of  being  on  visiting  terms  with  the 
Pickets ;  but  then,  did  they  not  come  to  Germany 
in  the  idea  of  intercourse  with  charcoal-burners  and 
tailors' sons,  as  well  as  with  simple-hearted  princes; 
why  then  not  look  for  some  virtues  even  among 
lodging-house-keepers?  The  Middletons  endured 
them,  and  hoped  for  virtues,  spite  of  physiognomy. 

\7eek3  and  months  rolled  on  ;  they  were  deeply 
absorbed  in  their  studies  and  reading  of  German ; 
in  enjoying  the  fine  autumn  and  exploring  the  woods 
and  vallies,  which,  with  their  love  for  nature,  was  a 
never-ceasing  enjoyment  to  them.  They  watched 
with  great  pleasure  the  industry  of  the  peasants,  and 
returned  with  cordiality  their  cheerful  and  open  salu- 
tations. They  never  were  more  happy  in  their  lives ; 
for  their  reading,  and  what  they  saw,  only  tended  to 
renew  their  poetical  enthusiasm,  although,  as  yet, 
they  had  found  neither  an  Eberhard  Stilling  nor  a 
Duke,  like  the  friend  of  Schiller  and  Goethe  ;  all, 
however,  as  yet,  contributed  to  keep  them  in  good 
humour,  and  they  even  began  to  exchange  occasional 
visits  with  widow  Picket  and  her  daughters.  All  was 
smooth  ds  yet,  and  perhapsmight  have  remained  smooth 
much  longer,  had  not  a  new  actress  come  on  the  scene 
12 


134  ADVENTURES   IN    A 

Amongst  the  many  politicians  and  philanthropist 
with  whom  Mr.  Middleton  was  acquainted,  was  a 
merchant  of  considerable  wealth,  named  Oakley.  Mr. 
Middleton  took  great  pleasure  in  his  broad  and  liberal 
sentiments.  He  met  him  in  various  committees  of 
societies  for  the  promotion  of  political  reforms  and 
philanthropic  objects,  when  he  was  sure  to  advocate 
the  most  energetic  measures,  and  thus  a  sort  of  public 
friendship  grew  up  between  them.  More  intimate 
and  familiar  acquaintance,  however,  made  known 
sundry  facts,  which,  esteemmg  Mr.  Oakley  as  he  did, 
he  regretted,  especially  for  the  sake  of  his  children. 

Mr.  Middleton  was  firmly  attached  to  his  ovm 
church  and  his  faith  in  Christ,  and  his  religion  he  held 
with  a  peculiar  feeling  of  sacredness.  It  was  a  shock 
to  him,  therefore,  to  find  that  though  Mr.  Oakley 
avowed  himself  to  be  now  a  believer  in  Christianity, 
he  had  for  the  greater  portion  of  his  life  been  other- 
v.-ise,  and  had  yet  taken  no  pains  to  induce  this  belief 
into  the  minds  of  his  children.  Mrs.  Oakley  pro- 
fessed to  think  exactly  as  her  husband  did ;  that  is, 
to  be  convinced  of  the  truth  of  the  Christian  reli- 
gion ;  but  to  hold  with  him,  also,  that  truth  was  not 
to  be  arrived  at  by  education,  but  by  self-examination 
and  consequent  conviction.  Mr.  Oakley  held  so  sa- 
cred the  freedom  of  opinion,  that  he  would  not  limit  it 
in  the  slightest  degree,  even  by  endeavouring  to  per- 
suade his  children  of  the  truth  of  Christianity,  lest 
the  weight  of  paternal  influence  should  be  the  cause 
of  conviction,  and  not  the  intrinsic  weight  of  evidence 


GERMAN    LODGING-HOUSE.  135 

itself.  The  oonsequence  of  this  was,  that  the  son, 
who,  nevertheless,  was  a  most  warm-hearted  and 
amiable  youth,  with  every  tendency  to  nobility  of 
mind,  avowed,  in  the  most  frank  and  innocent 
manner,  his  infidelity ;  and  the  daughters,  highly 
accomplished  girls,  though  they  professed  to  be  Chris- 
tians, held  a  curious  mixture  of  extraordinary,  not 
to  say  libertine,  notions  mixed  up  with  their  religion. 

Whilst  these  discoveries  were  being  made,  however, 
a  family  friendship  had  grown  up.  The  Oakleys 
courted  the  IVIiddletons  from  many  causes,  and  the 
Middletons,  wishing  to  effect  good  in  young  people 
whom  they  believed  capable  of  being  ornaments  to 
society,  could  they  but  be  influenced  and  guided 
aright,  permitted  and  even  encouraged  great  intimacy. 

The  younger  daughter,  Julia,  had  established  her- 
self as  the  bosom  friend  of  Lucy  Middleton,  and,  on 
their  leaving  England  for  Germany,  had  made  her 
promise  to  continue  their  intercourse  by  letter.  The 
eldest  daughter,  then  approaching  thirty,  had  always 
appeared  to  the  Middletons  singularly  domestic. 
Much  plainer  in  person  than  her  sister,  and  much 
less  accomplished,  she  had  always  exhibited  a  cha- 
racter of  household  self-forgetfulness,  which  won  in 
an  especial  manner  on  Mrs.  Middleton. 

One  of  the  peculiarities  of  the  Oakleys  was  their 
intense  love  for  everything  foreign — foreign  literature, 
foreign  music,  foreign  fashions,  foreign  manners,  all 
came  recommended  to  their  feelings ;  hence,  at  their 
house  were  not  only  to  be  found  every  grade,  and 


136  ADVENTURES    IN    A 

shade,  and  rariety  of  opinion  whatever — Socialists 
and  Socinians,  Infidels  and  New  Lights,  both  in  phi- 
losophy and  religion;  but  every  variety  of  people, 
false  or  true,  under  the  sun — bearded  and  long-haired 
Germans,  converted  Jews,  unfortunate  Poles,  and 
Italian  carbonari.  They  were  great  lionizers,  were 
the  Oakleys,  and  anything  with  a  claim  to  notoriety 
or  singularity  came  recommended  to  them.  The 
Middletons  laughed  at  this  weakness  of  their  friends, 
and  begged  that  they  themselves  might  be  permitted 
to  visit  them  only  when  alone. 

Thus  the  Middletons  had  been  now  some  months 
in  Germany,  and,  as  we  have  seen,  to  their  great 
delight.  Lucy  wrote,  as  she  had  been  requested,  to 
Julia  Oakley,  and  her  letters  produced  the  greatest 
sensation  among  them  all. 

"  Oil,  what  would  we  not  give  to  be  with  you  in 
this  darling  country ! "  wrote  Julia,  in  her  replies ; 
"  to  study  with  you  the  language  ;  to  sing  with  you 
the  songs  !     What  a  happiness  would  it  not  be  ! " 

Mr.  ar«J  Mrs.  Middleton  read  these  letters  too ; — 
the}'-  thought  of  poor  Jemima,  who  tended  her  poultry, 
knit  woollen  stockings  for  her  father,  and  had,  appa- 
rently, so  few  pleasures,  and  yet  withal  whom  they 
thought  so  capable  of  turning  favourable  opportuni- 
ties to  advantage.  "  Poor  Jemima  never  will  marry," 
said  they  :  "  her  life  is  monstrous ;  and,  good  ami- 
able soul,  she  never  complains.  Let  her  come  and 
spend  the  winter  with  us,  and  study  German  with 
Lucy,  and  music  too.  Poor  thing!  we  may  thus 
give  her  pleasant  memories  for  life." 


GERMAN    LODGING- IIOUSK.  VM 

To  plan  a  generous  thing  and  to  act  upon  the  idea, 
was  one  and  the  same  tiling  with  the  Middletons. 
The  invitation  was  despatched.  The  Oakleys  were 
all  gratitude  ;  and  in  less  than  a  fortnight,  Jemima, 
escorted  by  her  brother  and  her  sister  Julia,  drove  up 
to  the  door. 

The  Middletons,  we  need  not  say,  received  them 
with  great  kindness  :  they  felt  a  benevolent  pleasure 
in  the  gratification  they  had  given,  and  the  benefit 
they  were  about  to  confer. 

Not  many  days,  however,  had  elapsed  before  a  mis- 
giving arose  in  Mrs.  Middleton's  mind.  The  quiet, 
self- forget  ting  Jemima  Oakley  was  no  more  ;  there 
was  something  wild  and  insolent  about  her  that  was 
incomprehensible,  and,  at  the  same  time,  alarming. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  dear  Julia,  take  her  back 
with  you,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Middleton  to  that  young 
lady,  whom  she  found  in  tears  one  morning,  and  who 
confessed  that  she  wept  from  anxiety  about  her  sister 
— acknowledging  that  the  Middletons  had  been  mis- 
taken in  her  character — that  quiet  as  they  had  seen 
her  at  home,  it  was  merely  from  the  absence  of  excite- 
ment— that  in  new  scenes  and  among  new  people  she 
was  quite  beside  herself;  and  then  the  poor  girl,  in 
the  candour  of  her  distress,  went  on  to  tell  such  a 
variety  or  anecdotes  of  Jemima's  folly  and  weakness, 
as  quite  astounded  her  auditor. 

"  Why,  then,  did  you  bring  her  here  ?  Why  did 
your  parents  permit  her  to  come  V  asked  Mrs.  Mid- 
dleton, almost  angry ;  "  she  must  go  back  with  you  I" 


133  ADVENTURES   IN  A 

"Back  with  us!"  exclaimed  Julia,  turning  pale 
and  clasping  her  hands.  "  Oh,  that  is  what  I 
dreaded  from  the  moment  your  invitation  came! 
Dearest  Mrs.  Middleton  !"  said  Julia,  weeping  anew; 
"our  parents  know  nothing  of  this  her  weak- 
ness ;  we  guard  the  knowledge  from  them  as  we 
guard  their  lives !  They  have  had  many  troubles  of 
late — Oh,  spare  them  this !  Oh,  what  may  not  the 
influence  of  Mr.  Middleton,  and  you,  and  dear  Lucy, 
effect  upon  her  :  do  try  her  yet  a  while ;  she  is  not 
wicked,  but  weak :  it  is  her  calamity,  and  not  her 
crime.  I  will  speak  to  her  ;  she  will  control  herself, 
and  all  may  yet  be  well !" 

"  I  must  speak  with  my  husband  on  the  subject," 
said  Mrs.  Middleton,  rising;  deeply  moved,  neverthe- 
less, by  Julia's  entreaties  and  distress. 

"  Oh,  no  !  in  Heaven's  name,  no  ! "  exclaimed 
Julia ;  "  I  know  Mr.  Middleton  too  well :  I  know 
bis  high  and  indignant  disposition.  Dear — dear  Mrs. 
Middleton, be  our  friend — keep  it  from  his  knowledge! 
You  can  do  much  with  Jemima.  You  have  untold 
influence  over  her.  Spare  us  all,  and  keep  it  from 
Mr.  Middleton's  knowledge  ! " 

The  intense  distress  of  the  young  girl  operated,  and 
Mrs.  Middleton  consented  to  have  it  kept  a  secret 
from  her  husband. 

Julia  spoke  with  her  sister,  and  the  effect  waa 
apparent.  Jeniima  begged  the  pardon  of  Mrs.  Mid- 
dleton, and  promised  never  again  to  give  htr  cause  oi 
Krief. 


GERMAN    LODGING-HOUSE.  1  Si) 

The  Oakleys  were  all  charmed  to  be  in  a  foreign 
land,  and  among  foreigners  ;  Mrs.  Picket  and  her 
many-named  daughters  exerted  themselves  to  the 
very  utmost  to  win  them,  and  to  give  them  pleasure  ; 
and  to  the  no  small  amusement  and  temporary  surprise 
of  the  Middletons,  the  Oakleys  were  wonderfully 
taken  by  them  ; — the  temporary  surprise,  we  say,  for 
they  soon  remembered  all  the  "  Medes,  Parthians, 
Elamites,  and  dwellers  in  Mesopotamia " — "  the 
Btrange-visaged,  bearded,  moustachioed,  red-headed, 
and  black-lieaded,"  embroidered- coated,  belted,  and 
bandit-looking  beings  who  frequented  the  Oakleys, 
and  they  ceased  to  wonder. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE    PICKETS    AND    THE    OAKLEYS. 

Three  or  four  days  before  the  time  fixed  upon 
for  the  return  of  the  Oakleys,  Mrs.  Picket  invited 
them  and  the  Middletons  to  "  tea,  bread  and  butter, 
and  a  dance,"  according  to  the  German  mode  in  word- 
ing an  invitation,  which  implies  that  it  is  to  be  the 
very  grandest  affair  of  the  kind  which  the  inviters  can 
manage.  The  Oakleys  had  expressed  a  wish  to  dance 
a  regular  German  cotillon,  and  Mrs.  Picket  and  her 
daughters  said  they  should  do  so. 

At  tliis  ball  there  dropped,  from  some  unknown 
region,  another  Picket — a  son ;  a  young  rnan  of  some 
two  (T  three-and-twenty,  with  the  family  red  hail 


140  THE    PICKETS    AND 

and  sanguine  complexion,  and  who  was  introduced  to 
the  Middletons  as  Potemkin  Frederick  Ludwig  Per- 
cival.  "  A  prodigy  of  learning  and  genius  he  was," 
said  his  admiring  mother ;  "  and  one  who  was  about 
to  produce  a  new  philosophical  theory  which  would 
astonish  all  Germany  ;  he  was  called  Potemkin,"  she 
said,  "  because  one  of  his  ancestors  had  seen  an  Empe- 
ror of  Russia,  and  Percival  because  he  had  an  uncle 
in  England." 

The  Miss  Oakleys  danced  in  many  a  remarkable 
toui  of  the  cotillon  with  the  fiery  Potemkin ;  liscencd 
to  him  singing  the  most  admired  of  the  Burschen 
songs;  and  sang  with  him  others  which  had  made 
their  way  to  England,  and  become  favourites  with 
them  there.  The  next  day  the  Pickets  formed  a 
walking-party  for  the  Oakleys,  in  which  Potemkin 
made  a  distinguished  figure — the  whole  family  think- 
ing to  flatter  the  Middletons  by  devotion  to  their 
guests.  Two  more  days  and  the  Oakleys  went — but 
Mr.  Potemkin  stayed. 

"  What  is  this  flaming  young  fellow  doing  here  so 
much'?"  asked  Mr.  Middleton — as  he  had  found  him 
in  the  drawing-room  several  times  on  coming  in  from 
his  walks. 

"  His  visits  are  extremely  unpleasant,  my  dear 
Charles,"  returned  his  wife ;  "  not  but  that  he  con- 
ducts himself  perfectly  well — but  I  do  not  like  the 
family.  I  disapprove  of  all  this  intercourse ;  but  he 
brings  the  young  ladies  books,  and  always  is  so  desirous 
to  clearing  away  difficulties  from  their  progress  in 
German." 


THE    OAKLEYS.  141 

t 

"  The  German  master  can  do  this,"  returned  he. 
"And  what,  1  should  like  to  know,  is  this  Potemkin 
doing  here  ?  Has  he  no  profession — no  business  1 — 
and  where  is  his  abode  ? " 

"  Jemima  tells  me,"  said  Mrs.  Middleton — for  her 
husband  knew  as  well  as  she  did  how  intimate  this 
lady  had  become  with  the  family,  and  how  every 
day  seemed  to  increase  it — "  Jemima  says,"  there- 
fore, she  replied,  "•  that  he  is  preparing  for  a  professor- 
ship. He  is  writing  some  thesis  or  other,  and  is 
come  hither  to  spend  the  winter  and  complete  his 
studies." 

"  Every  day,"  said  he,  "  increases  my  dislike  of  these 
Pickets.  They  are,  1  am  sure,  an  artful,  designing 
set  of  adventurers.  This  young  man  is  called  hither 
for  some  plan.  There  will  be  an  attempt  made  on 
the  affections  of  Lucy  or  on  Jemima  Oakley — I 
know  not  which  ;  but  both  are  under  our  care,  and 
it  is  our  bounden  duty  to  guard  both  from  danger." 

Mrs.  Middleton  was  too  much  of  her  husband's 
mind.  She  had  declared  the  same  suspicions  to  her 
daughter  and  their  guest ;  but  the  latter  laughed  at 
the  idea.  ''She  was  in  the  confidence  of  the  Pickets," 
she  said,  "  and  there  was  no  danger." 

It  is  impossible  to  describe  Mrs.  Middleton  s  secret 
uneasiness  with  regard  to  Miss  Oakley ;  the  fami- 
liarity with  the  Pickets  annoyed  her  extremely.  She 
endeavoured  to  influence  her — to  persuade  her  to 
settle  down  to  her  studies ;  but  it  was  vain.  She 
told  her  of  the  promise  she  had  been  entrapped  into 


142  THE    PICKETS    AND 

by  her  sister  to  keep  the  knowledge  of  her  folly  from 
her  husband,  and  besought  her  to  act  differently. 
She  reminded  her  of  the  character  she  had  borne  at 
home,  and  in  consequence  of  which  she  had  been  in- 
vited by  them ;  but  all  was  to  no  purpose.  Hei 
very  countenance,  as  well  as  her  tone  of  mind,  had 
become  changed ;  her  cheeks  were  a  crimson  flush, 
as  if  she  were  rouged,  and  her  laugh — a  laugh  that 
inspired  the  strangest  sensations,  came  from  the  dis- 
tant part  of  the  house  with  a  wild  loudness  that  ter- 
rified all  who  heard  it. 

"  What  can  have  come  to  that  girl  V  exclaimed 
Mr.  Middleton  many  a  time  ;  "  I  really  do  not  know 
her." 

His  wife  could  have  told  him  ;  but  she  remembered 
the  entreaties  of  her  sister,  and  was  silent.  Besides 
this,  she  knew  that  if  she  made  the  full  discovery  to 
him,  he  would  set  off  himself  with  her  to  England. 
The  winter  had  set  in  with  unexampled  severity, 
^nd  Jemima's  return  home  under  such  circumstances 
must  bi-ing  all  to  her  parents'  knowledge — must 
perhaps  disgrace  her  with  all  her  friends.  Her  kind 
heart  could  not  bear  the  thought  of  this.  She  strove 
with  her  again — mourned  in  secret  over  her — and 
felt  that  of  all  the  winters  of  her  life,  this  was  the 
most  unpleasant. 

"  Cannot  you,  dear  Charles,  find  something  to  em- 
ploy this  Mr.  Potemkin  1"  said  his  wife  to  hira  one 
day.  "  He  seems  to  have  nothing  of  his  own  to  do  ; 
he  comes  every  day  now  to  read  with  Jemima. 


THE    OAKLEVS.  143 

Better  by  far  find  him  employment  than  have  him,  at 
a  loss,  end  thus." 

Mr.  Middleton  was  deeply  occupied  in  writing  a 
work  which  required  reference  to  a  great  variety  of 
German  authoi-s.  He  approved  of  the  idea,  and  gave 
him  full  employment.  This  for  a  time  seemed  to 
have  the  best  effect.  Potemkin,  sensible  of  the  pe- 
cuniary advantage  thus  set  before  him,  was  particu- 
larly careful  to  behave  before  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Middle- 
ton,  so  as  to  insure  their  good  opinion  ;  and  Jemima, 
seeing  plainly  the  altered  feeling  with  which  even 
Mr.  Middleton  regarded  her,  became  somewhat  more 
circumspect.  But  all  this  did  not  check  for  a  moment 
the  wheels  of  intrigue  which  were  in  motion,  and 
which  Mrs.  Picket  was  always  watching  and  always 
urging  on.  Nor  was  it  long  before  poor  Mrs.  Middle- 
ton  was  plunged  into  fresh  consternation  and  distress. 

Mr.  Potemkin  addressed  a  passionate  declaration  of 
love  to  Lucy,  which  the  astonished  girl  indignantly 
laid  Ijcfore  her  mother.  Mrs.  Middleton  upbraided 
Jemima  with  her  endeavours  to  deceive  her  on  this 
subject ;  and,  rising  up,  declared  she  would  lay  all 
before  her  husband. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake !  wait  a  moment — reflect  a 
moment;"  exclaimed  Miss  Oakley;  "to  tell  tliis  to 
Mr.  Middleton  will  be  dreadful.  Oh,  dearest  Mrs. 
Middleton,  for  Heaven's  sake,  do  wait  a  moment !" 
and  witli  these  words  she  ruslicd  out  of  the  room. 

Mrs.  Middleton  and  lier  daughter  sat  in  amaze,  and 
presently  after  she  re-entered.  *'  It  is  all  a  mistake," 
said  she  ;  "  all  a  mere  joke  ! " 


144  THE    PICKETS    AND 

"  A  mistake  !  a  joke  !"  cried  Mrs.  Middleton  and 
Lucy  in  the  same  breath,  and  with  the  utmost  indig- 
nation. 

"  Yes,"  said  Jemima,  "  I  have  seen  him.  He  saya 
it  is  nothing  but  the  most  harmless  of  jokes.  This  is 
a  sort  of  Valentine's  day  :  he  will  send  the  very  same 
to  me — he  says  he  will.  It's  all  a  foolish  piece  of 
business !  But,  Oh,  if  you  could  only  see  the  distress 
of  the  poor  young  man,  now  he  knows  what  a  grievous 
mistake  he  has  made  ! " 

"  A  joke,"  repeated  Mrs.  Middleton ;  "  I  know  not 
what  you  may  or  may  not  call  a  joke ;  but  if  this  be 
a  joke,  it  is  fit  only  for  a  Cossack." 

"  But  see  him,  my  dear  Mrs.  Middleton,"  said 
Jemima,  entreatingly  ;  "  and  as  yon  value  my  happi- 
ness, speak  not  of  this  to  Mr.  Middleton ; "  added 
she,  clasping  her  hands  tragically. 

"  I  will  see  him,"  replied  Mrs.  Middleton  in  indig- 
nation, and  left  the  room. 

The  poor  confounded  young  man,  who  was  more 
weak  than  wicked,  and  was  a  mere  tool  in  his 
mother's  hands,  flung  himself  at  her  feet,  and  with 
prayers  and  tears  besought  forgiveness,  protesting  that 
the  whole  of  his  future  life  should  show  his  eternal 
gratitude. 

"  Get  up,  then,  and  show  that  you  are  a  man !  ** 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Middleton,  who  could  not  help  dis- 
pising  so  mean-spirited  a  creature,  and  who  hated 
scenes,  of  all  things.  "  One  more  such  folly,  and 
nothing  shall  save  you." 


THE   OAKLEYS.  145 

She  left  the  room ;  and  knowing  her  hushand'g 
indignant  temperament  as  well  as  Jemima  Oakley 
did,  and  believing  that  poor  Potemkin  was  now  fright- 
ened into  propriety,  she  thought  of  Hezekiah  Godkin 
and  his  ass,  and  determined  to  be  silent,  nor  provoke 
her  husband  by  so  pitiful  a  being  as  this. 

The  winter  went  on.  Jemima  Oakley  and  the 
Pickets  were  as  intimate  as  ever.  Thusnelda  and 
she  practised  music  together ;  Potemkin  presented 
her  with  bouquets  when  she  went  to  a  party ;  and 
Mrs.  Middleton,  who  submitted  rather  than  acqui- 
esced— having  vainly  reasoned  and  insisted  on  tliia 
intimacy  ceasing — adopted  now  the  idea  that  she,  and 
not  her  daughter,  was  the  object  of  his  desires.  She 
told  her  husband  this,  and  both  grew  more  and  more 
impatient  for  the  early  spring,  when  he  might  take 
her  back  to  her  friends  in  England,  and  they  them- 
selves might  leave  a  house  in  which  all  their  Utopian 
notions  of  German  guilelessness  had  been  so  completely 
upset. 

Things  looked  all  outwardly  quiet.  Lucy  was 
actively  proceeding  with  her  studies,  and  Jemima 
Oakley  passed  more  of  her  time  with  the  Pickets 
than  with  the  Middletons;  which,  while  it  grieved 
the  Middletons,  certainly  left  their  own  circle  much 
calmer.  This  seeming  quiet,  however,  was  speedily 
and  unexpectedly  interrupted  by  the  foolish  Potemkin'a 
breaking  his  word,  and  again  declaring  love  to  Lucy. 

Mrs.  Middleton  that  morning  entered  her  hus- 
band's study,  with  an  open  letter  in  her  hand,  and 
13 


i46  THE    PICKETS    AND 

■with  a  countenance  Avhich  betokened  bcth  anger  and 
deep  concern.  Mr.  Middleton  read  the  letter  which 
she  laid  before  him  with  surprise,  but  not  with  the 
fiery  anger  which  she  had  expected. 

"Fool !"  said  he  to  himself;  and  then  turning  to 
his  wife,  "  My  dear  Edith,"  said  he,  "  this  is  no 
more  than  we  might  expect." 

"  It  is  not,  my  dear  Charles,"  replied  she,  "but  I 
blame  myself  for  much  of  this ;  I  have  acted  wrong 
in  keeping  much  from  j'our  knowledge.  You  must 
forgive  me,  for  indeed  I  have  suffered  much." 

She  then  told  him  all,  and  how  she  could  not  but 
consider  the  unhappy  Jemima  Oakley  to  be  in  some 
way  or  other  an  actress  in  this  intrigue.  She  told 
her  husband  all  that  her  sister  Julia,  while  with 
them,  had  confided  to  her  of  her  foolish  conduct, 
and  how  vain  had  been  all  her  own  strivings  with 
her:  "and  now,  thank  God,"  said  she,  when  all  this 
miserable  avowal  had  been  made,  "  that  there  is  not 
a  secret  between  us  ;  but  we  must  consider,  Charles, 
what  is  best  to  be  done."        ^ 

"  This  foolish  fellow  must  quit  the  house,  of 
course,"  said  he.  "  He  says  he  intends  to  go  to 
Vienna,  to  study  something  or  other.  I  will  give 
him  this,"  said  he,  writing  an  order  on  his  banker 
for  a  hundred  guineas;  "it  will  amply  repay  hira 
for  all  he  has  done  for  me.  I  w411  instantly  inclose 
it  in  a  note,  ordering  him  to  quit  the  house ;  that  is 
answer  enough  for  him.  As  to  Jemima,  I  will 
take  her  home — take  her  home  immediately ;    she 


THE   OAKLEYS  14? 

fcnows  what  part  she  has  had  in  this  affair ;  she 
knows  the  unhappiness  she  has  occasioned  to  us  all, — 
especially  to  you ;  she  shall  go — go  instantly,"  said 
he,  growing  angry. 

His  wife  mollified  him ;  she  dreaded  her  husband'a 
anger,  for  Jemima's  sake,  and  she  said  many  a  pal- 
liating word  for  her.  "  Let  her  stay  out  the  term 
of  her  visit,"  said  she,  "  for  the  sake  of  her  family  ; 
you  shall  take  her  in  April,  as  you  proposed  ;  there 
need  not  be  a  word  to  be  said  to  her  parents.  Mrs. 
Oakley,  in  her  last  letter  to  me,  speaks  of  many 
troubles  which  have  overwhelmed  them  of  late. 
Take  her  home,  Charles,  quietly,  and  when  she  is 
safe  at  home,  our  responsibility  ends." 

Her  husband  assented,  on  condition  that  Jemima 
Oakley  dropped  all  intimacy  with  the  Pickets. 

The  greatest  commotion  existed  in  the  family  of 
the  Pickets,  and  the  next  day  it  was  given  out  that 
Potemkin  was  ill.  The  mother  was  heard  crying 
aloud,  which  among  the  common  Germans  is  the 
usual  mode  of  exhibiting  distress,  and  the  student 
friends  of  Potemkin  were  seen  coming  and  going,  in 
a  state  of  the  greatest  activity ;  while  Jemima 
Oakley,  angry  and  mortified,  if  not  humiliated,  that 
so  much  of  her  true  character  had  been  made  known 
to  Mr.  Middleton,  kept  almost  entirely  in  her  own 
room. 

Unhappy  girl !  lier  follies  were  not  at  an  end.  On 
the  second  day  Potemkin  rose  from  his  sick  bed,  and 
presented  himself  again  in  Mr.  Middleton's  study 


148  THE    PICKETS    AND 

and  he  too  came  with  an  open  letter  in  his  hand.  He 
came  with  an  air  of  assurance,  and  requested  that 
Mrs.  Middleton  might  be-  sent  for,  as  he  had  some- 
thing extraordinary  to  communicate.  Mrs.  Mid- 
dleton came— the  parties  all  stood.  "  There,"  said 
Potemkin,  "  read  that !"  The  Middletons  read  it ; 
it  was  a  declaration  of  tender  sentiment  from  Jemima 
Oakley  to  himself. 

"  This  is  truly  grievou*  ! — This  is  indeed  humi- 
liating !"  said  Mr.  Middleton,  in  a  melancholy 
and  self -addressing  tone,  "  the  poor,  unfortunate 
creature !" 

"  You  see  it  !"  said  Potemkin,  with  an  air  of 
offended  dignity,  and  almost  bursting  with  vanity, 
"  you  see  it ! — what  am  I  to  do  1" 

"  To  do !"  thundered  Mr.  Middleton,  raising  his 
eyes  suddenly,  and  darting  a  fiery  flash  on  poor 
Potemkin,  who  started  back  as  if  a  stone  had  struck 
him.  "  To  begone  this  hour,  this  instant,  for  all  this 
shall  be  made  known  to  her ;  and  never  let  me  see 
you  again,  or  I  will  not  answer  for  the  consequences !" 

Terrified  by  these  words,  and  still  more  by  their 
manner,  Potemkin  clutched  the  door-handle  in  a 
spasm  of  afi^right,  and  lied  from  the  room  ;  and  that 
very  evening,  the  Middletons  had  the  satisfaction  to 
see  his  boxes  wheeled  off  to  the  city,  and  very  soon 
likewise  to  learn  that  he  himself  had  departed  some- 
where by  the  diligence. 

A  few  words  may  suffice  to  relate  what  farther 
concerned  the  unhappy  Jemima  Oakley.     Humbled 


THE    OAKLKYS.  149 

at  what  she  considered,  and  justly  peiliaps,  tliia 
treachery  of  Potemkin's,  and  pursued  by  the  ])itterest 
rage  and  contempt  of  his  family,  who  not  only 
imagined  she  had  steeled  Lucy's  heart  against  Po- 
tcmkin  for  her  own  purposes,  and  who  hoped  like- 
wise, by  this  means,  to  win  favour  again  from  the 
Middletons,  she  set  about  making  preparations  for 
her  return  to  England. 

All  her  insolence  and  arrogance  was  now  gone,  and 
deploring  the  loss  of  the  IVIiddletons'  esteem,  her 
efforts  to  reinstate  herself,  at  least  in  some  measure, 
in  their  regard,  were  really  quite  affecting  to  them. 
She  deplored  her  weaknesses,  she  candidly  acknow- 
ledged her  errors,  and  besought  their  forgiveness. 
Whatever  was  kind  and  soft  in  her  nature  now  exhi- 
bited itself,  and  she  was  like  the  Jemima  Oakley  of 
former  days;  and  though  the  Middletons  told  her 
candidly  they  never  could  confide  in  her  more,  they 
showed  her  kindness  to  the  last  day  of  her  stay. 

Mr.  Middleton  took  her  to  England.  Not  one 
word  was  breathed  to  her  parents  of  what  had 
occurred ;  and  had  it  not  been  for  Julia,  who  wrung 
and  extorted  from  Mr.  Middleton  some  little  of  the 
truth,  not  one  word  would  have  been  whispered  on 
the  subject. 

How  quiet,  pure,  and  holy  did  his  return  to  his 
hearth  seem,  when  he  was  received  by  his  wife  and 
daughter,  with  glad  hearts  and  improved  looks  ! 

One  chapter  of  German  experience  had  been  gone 
through,  which  convinced  the  Middletons  that  tho 


150  THE   PICKETS    AND 

Utopia  of  life  was  not  universal  in  Germany, — hat 
the  chapter  was  not  quite  ended,  although  the  Middle- 
tons  ceased  to  be  actors  in  it.  They  had  now  left 
Plauderheim  some  months,  and  were  spending  some 
gay  and  happy  weeks  in  Vienna. 

We  beg  our  readers'  pardon  &r  introducing  them 
into  bad  company,  but  we  will  not  detain  them  long. 
Let  us  see  then  Mrs.  Picket  and  her  daughters  sitting 
together  at  tlieir  work  ;  Thusnelda,  however,  was 
not  working ;  she  was  lying  on  the  sofa,  having  just 
recovered  from  a  fit  of  "  true  love  which  had  not  run 
smooth." 

They  were  talking  of  the  Middletons,  and  their 
intractability ;  and  how  they  had  been  so  out  of 
their  reckoning  with  regard  to  them ;  from  the  Mid- 
dletons they  went  to  the  Oakleys,  and  talked  of  the 
time  of  their  coming,  when  the  brother  and  sister 
were  there,  and  they  had  a  ball,  and  all  was  so  gay 
and  merry.  "  The  Oakleys  were  rich,"  they  said ; 
"  Jemima  herself  had  said  so,  richer  even  than  the 
Middletons — why,  Jemima  spent  twice  as  much  in 
clothes  as  Lucy  Middleton !  What  a  nice  young 
man  Edward  Oakley  was  !" 

Mrs.  Picket  was  reckoned  a  perfect  mistress  of 
intrigue  by  her  family,  and  they  always  thought  that 
her  words  had  double-meanings.  At  the  mention  of 
Edward  Oakley,  therefore,  accompanied  as  it  was  by 
a  look  at  Thusnelda,  that  young  lady  raised  her  spare 
figure  from  the  sofa,  and  said,  "  Oh  yes,  a  very  nice 
young  man  was  Edward  Oakley  !  " — "  Yes,  indeed, 


TIIK    OAKLEYS.  '  15^ 

that  he  was!"  said  the  other  sisters;  and  tlie  ])La.i 
began  to  work — "  and  Jemima  really  was  very  fund 
of  Potemkin,"  pursued  Mrs.  Picket ;  "  and  after  all 
she  was  a  very  clever  girl — or  there's  Julia  far  before 
Jemima  ; — I  should  not  wonder — " 

We  will  not  finish  the  mother's  sentence.  The 
scheme  was  laid — let  not  our  readers  think  it  incre- 
dible, for  all  that  we  write  is  true.  Two  letters  went 
to  the  post  that  day;  the  one  from  Thusnelda  to 
Jemima  Oakley,  begging  to  explain  many  things ; 
professing  affection  ;  talking  of  iwhappiness ;  hinting 
of  bitter  things  which  the  Middletons  had  said 
against  her;  "and,  Oh,  if  she  could  but  once  again 
practise  music  with  her  as  they  had  done — and,  Oh, 
if  Jemima — or  Julia — would  but  come  again  ! "  The 
other  letter  was  to  Potemkin,  from  the  mother, 
bidding  him  to  return  home,  as  he  was  needed  on 
important  business. 

Mr.  Middleton  s  behaviour  to  the  young  Oakleys, 
though  it  had  been  kind,  was  not,  and  never  could  be 
again,  as  friendly  as  formerly  ;  and  when  he  was 
gone,  though  they  did  not  confess  it,  they  felt  that 
their  pride  was  wounded. 

Thusnelda's  letter  arrived,  too,  at  a  fortunate  time 
for  the  writer.  The  Middletons  were  in  Vienna,  and 
on  their  way  to  Italy;  they  would  not  return  for 
some  time,  and  beyond  this,  they  wanted  just  then 
somebody  to  lionize.  Instead,  therefore,  of  accepting 
the  invitation  from  the  Pickets,  they  obtained  from 
their  parents  an  invitation  to  them  as  friends  of  the 


152  THE    PICKETS    AND    THE    OAKLEYS, 

Middletons;  and  in  less  than  a  month  Thusnelda 
and  Potemkin,  on  the  promise  of  proving  liow  basely 
the  Middletons  had  behaved,  set  out  on  their  journey 
to  England ;  and  in  another  week  were  presented  to 
an  admiring  circle  of  the  Oakleys  ;  he  as  a  celebrated 
young  German  poet,  and  she  as  a  miracle  of  musical 
talent. 

News  of  all  this  came  to  the  Middletons,  in  a  letter 
from  Julia  Oakley  herself,  who  wrote  to  Lucy  in  a 
strain  of  high  indignation  against  her  parents  for  their 
unkindness  to  her  slater,  and  their  double-dealings  to 
the  Pickets. 

Lucy  ^^•^pt  as  she  read  the  letter,  for  she  had  loved 
Julia. 

"  ^Feep  not,  my  dear  girl,"  said  her  mother,  when 
she,  too,  had  read  it ;  "  we  have  all  of  us  had  a  lesson 
which  w^  shall  profit  by — not  to  expect  too  much 
from  common  natures." 

"  And  not  to  mix  ourselves  up  with  common 
natures,"  said  the  father  sternly ;  "  and  not  to  look 
for  Utopian  existence  either  in  this  land  or  that. 
While  there  is  an  honest  Seth  Wagstaff  in  England, 
however,   I  can  forgive  the  Oakleys ;  and  our  noble 

friends,  the s  and  the s,  will  vindicate  the 

virtue  of  Germany." 


163 


CHAPTER  XII. 

OLD    ENGLAND    FOR    EVER  I 

In  the  beautiful  regions  to  which  the  Middletons 
were  advancing,  they  soon  forgot  the  petty  annoy- 
ances of  the  Pickets  and  the  Oakleys.  They  were 
now  amid  the  sublime  regions  of  the  Alps,  and  the 
lovely  lakes  and  vineyards  of  the  north  of  Italy. 
Every  step  forwj^rd  into  that  classic  and  Elysian  coun- 
try was  to  them  a  field  of  interest  and  admiration. 
There  was  not  a  spot  which,  beside  its  natural  beauty, 
was  not  the  scene  of  remarkable  deeds. 

The  stern  old  Romans,  the  Goths,  the  Lombards, 
the  Franks,  rose  around  them  everywhere.  They 
trod  in  tlie  track  of  Hannibal  and  Charlemagne.  Aa 
they  advanced,  it  was  not  only  into  the  regions  where 
every  field  and  rock  was  illustrious  as  the  memorials 
of  some  striking  event  in  the  domestic  history  of  old 
Rome,  but  it  was  into  the  native  land  of  Cicero, 
Virgil,  and  Horace,  of  Dante,  Boccaccio,  Petrarch 
and  Tasso,  of  RafFael  and  Michael  Angelo ;  and  tlie 
sojourn  of  our  own  noblest  spirits,  as  Milton,  Byron, 
Shelley,  and  Keats.  In  Rome,  one  of  the  first  places 
they  visited  was  the  graves  of  the  two  last  unfortu- 
nate but  kindred  spirits.  In  Rome  they  passed  the 
winter,  every  day  being  one  of  high  gratification  and 
acquirement. 


154  OLD    ENGLAND    FOR    EVER  ' 

111  spring  they  proceeded  southward.  They  passed 
the  bleak  and  naked  Apennines, — how  unlike  the 
splendid  descriptions  of  Mrs.  RadclifFe  !  beheld  the 
scenes  of  Elysian  and  Tartarian  renown  in  the 
works  of  Virgil ;  wandered  amid  the  sublime  ruina 
of  Paestum,  and  lingered  enchanted  in  the  vicinity 
of  Naples. 

They  returned  slowly  through  France ;  and  in 
about  three  years  from  the  date  of  their  leaving  Eng- 
land, once  more  set  foot  on  their  native  soil.  Mr. 
Middleton,  who  had  traversed  all  this  ground  before, 
had  been  their  delighted  guide.  It  had  been  to  him 
an  indescribable  pleasure  to  see  how  thoroughly  both 
his  wife  and  daugliter  entered  into  the  spirit  of  the 
scenes  and  objects  they  surveyed,  and  how  perfectly 
they  sympathised  in  all  liis  feelings.  Every  object, 
too,  for  which  they  had  gone  abroad,  had  been  accom- 
plished ;  Lucy  had  not  only  made  herself  mistress  of 
the  languages  of  the  countries  where  she  had  been  to 
a  high  pitch  of  fluency  and  elegance,  but  had  amassed 
a  vast  fund  of  knowledge  and  of  sound  taste  ;  and,  as 
is  the  effect  of  genuine  knowledge,  this  had  not  given 
her  an  air  of  pride  or  conceit,  but  of  the  most  un- 
assuming modesty. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Middleton  felt  that,  in  their  daughter, 
the  blessings  of  their  life  were  greatly  increased,  and 
they  thanked  God  for  it  daily.  They  looked  forward 
now  witli  impatience  to  the  time  when  they  should 
be  settled  down  again  in  their  English  home,  and 
amid  their  E:i<;lish  friends.      In  London  they  had 


OLD    ENGLAND    FOR    EVER  !  156 

much  to  hear  of  the  progress  of  arts,  and  of  tlie  cause 
of  knowledge  and  philanthropy,  but  they  were  impa« 
tient  to  hasten  down  to  Middleton.  They  wrote,  there- 
fore, to  WagstafF,  to  announce  their  coming  in  ten  days. 

The  news  spread  universal  joy  through  the  whole 
hamlet ;  and  AVagstafF  was  in  a  bustle  of  delight  and 
preparation. 

"  I  have  been  trying  to  think,"  said  he,  as  he  and 
his  wife  were  sitting  together  at  breakfast,  "  of  some- 
thing by  which  we  may  particularly  nlease  Mrs. 
Middleton.  The  house  is  all  in  order,  and  the  gardens ; 
the  pines,  and  the  grapes  never  were  finer  ;  the  school 
will  please  her,  for  Mrs.  Brandling  has  looked  well 
after  that,  and  there  never  were  so  much  knitting  and 
sewing  done  among  the  girls  in  this  parish  since  yam 
and  needles  were  invented  :  the  lads,  too.  get  on 
famously,  fo^-  Ephraim  Brown,  the  master — I  am 
very  fond  of  that  man  ;  really  he  is  one  in  ton  thousand 
— he  has  made  them  all  enthusiasts,  not  only  in  read- 
ing and  writing,  but  in  gardening,  joinering,  farming, 
and  everything  else  !  All  this  is  capital,"  said  the 
good  Seth,  rubbing  his  hands  and  scratching  his  head, 
"  but  still  I  want  a  something — let's  see — what  can 
it  be  ?  Can't  you  help  me,  Nancy,  to  a  bit  of  an  idea  ? 
for  you  women  have  often  such  famous  notions — " 

"  ^Vhy,  dear  me,"  returned  his  wife,  "  what  is  so 
plain  ?  as  plain  as  the  nose  on  your  face  ! " 

"  What  !  How  !  What  is  it  ?"  exclaimed  he,  star- 
ing joyfully  at  her,  and  then  at  the  clock-case,  as  if 
the  idea  were  to  come  to  him  from  that  quarter. 


156  OLD    ENGLAND    FOR    EVER  ! 

"  Why,"  said  Nancy  WagstafF,  with  a  smile  sc 
bright  and  sunny,  that  her  husband  thought  she  had 
never  looked  so  handsome  in  all  her  life,  "  "\7hat 
does  Mrs.  Middleton  love  next  best  to  her  husband 
and  her  daughter  ?  " 

"  What  does  she  love  next  best  ?  "  pondered  he. 
"  The  school  ?  to  make  the  poor  people  happy  ? 
Poetry  ?  I  don  t  see  what  I  can  make  out  of  that," 
added  he,  with  a  bewildered  look.  "  The  school  and 
the  poor  folks — all  that's  arranged.  Oh,  there  are 
those  new  volumes  of  exquisite  poetry  by  the  grand 
new  poet,  Tennyson  !  Ah,  they  do  go  to  the  heart — 
they  are  fine !  But,"  added  he  the  next  moment,  in 
a  tone  of  disappointment,  "  Miss  Lucy  and  she  get 
all  the  good  poetry  as  soon  as  it  comes  out." 

"  Goose ! "  exclaimed  his  wife,  starting  up  and 
seizing  his  great  bushy  head  of  black  hair  between 
both  her  hands,  and  shaking  it  well,  and  then  looking 
with  laughing  triumph  into  his  face — "  Schools,  old- 
folks — poetry  !  Why,  ^VagstafF,  what  a  norp*  you 
are !  Why,  has  Mrs.  Middleton  no  other  relation 
but  her  husband  and  daughter — has  she  not  a  sister 
that  she  loves  dearly  ?  " 

"  Odszoons  .  '  cried  Seth,  hitting  the  table  a  great 
knock  with  his  fist,  and  kissing  his  wife,  "  What  a 
norp  1  am — that's  the  very  thing  !  I  knew  there 
was  a  something,  if  I  could  but  hit  upon  it — and  I 
fancy  I  was  very  near  it  all  the  time !  " 

*  A  common  Derbyshire  phrase  for  a  simpletoQ.  derivco— 
but  we  leave  that  to  the  pliilologist. 


OLD    ENGLAND    FOR    EVER  I  157 

*'  There  now  ! "  said  his  wife,  laughing  again . 
•'  You  had  better  say  at  once  that  you  hit  upon  it — 
that's  always  the  way  with  you  men  ;  by  to-morrow 
morning  you'll  say  '  Now  that  was  a  bright  idea  of 
mine  ! '     I  know  you,  Wagstaff." 

He  did  not  stop  to  argue  the  point,  but  sat  down 
to  write  to  Mr.  Amersley  Brownlowe,  the  husband  of 
Mrs.  Middleton's  sister,  who  resided  in  Cumberland, 
begging  that  his  lady  would  be  at  Middleton  ready 
to  give  her  sister  an  agreeable  surprise  on  her  return. 

In  a  few  days  not  only  Mrs.  Brownlowe,  but  her 
husband  also,  arrived  at  Middleton  ;  he  was  a  fine, 
hearty  country  gentleman,  of  whom  Wagstaff  was 
very  fond.  They  had  brought  witli  them  also  a  son 
and  daughter — a  fine  boy  and  girl  of  fourteen  and 
sixteen  years  of  age.  There  began  at  once  to  be  an 
air  of  gaiety  about  the  Hall,  and  Wagstaff  was  in  his 
glory. 

The  day  of  arrival  at  length  came.  It  was  towards 
the  end  of  August  ;  the  corn  was  nearly  all  gathered 
in  ;  the  weather  was  bright  and  still,  and  over  the 
landscape,  varied  with  the  golden  stubble-fields  and 
the  dark  green  of  pastures  and  of  foliage,  lay  a  sort 
of  festal  solemnity  that  thrilled  to  the  hearts  of  the 
homeward  travellers. 

When  they  came  to  an  eminence  that  showed  them 
Middleton  lying  below,  amid  its  tall  trees,  the  sound 
of  merry  bells  swelled  at  once  upon  the  ear,  and  the 
tears  started  to  their  eyes  at  that  loved  and  familiar 
music,  because  tliey  knew  that  it  indeed  was  the 
14 


158         OLD  ENGLAND  FOR  EVEb! 

voice  of  heartfelt  welcome  from  the  expecting  inhabi 
tants  of  their  own  home  and  village. 

As  the  carriage,  covered  with  dust,  drove  into  the 
village,  all  the  simple  people,  old  and  young,  were  a^ 
their  doors.  There  was  a  shout  of  "  Welcome !  * 
Tears  were  plentifully  shed  on  all  sides,  and  the  car- 
riage was  obliged  to  halt  again  and  again,  that  old 
and  well-known  hands,  which  were  held  forth,  might 
be  shaken.  *  Is  there  a  scene  in  the  world  so  beau- 
tiful as  this  1  Have  we  felt  one  hour  of  our  absence 
so  truly  happy  before  ?  "  asked  they,  as  the  carriage 
drove  up  to  their  own  door — but  there,  what  a  joyful 
surprise  awaited  them  ! 

*'Ah!  my  dearest  sister!"  —  "My  dear  aunt 
and  uncle  ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Middleton  and  Lucy  at 
the  same  moment.  There  was  a  hasty  springing  from 
the  carriage ;  there  were  kisses,  embracings,  and  shak- 
ing of  hands,  such  as  are  worth  a  world  of  trouble  to 
enjoy,  or  even  to  witness. 

Scarcefv  had  the  happy  Middletons  embraced  their 
relatives,  when  they  saw  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Brandling 
within  the  Hall,  and  poor  Wagstaff  and  his  wife  stand- 
ing a  little  apart,  both  of  them  crying  for  joy.  All 
were  shaken  hands  with,  and  all  welcomed  them 
home.  "  And  now,"  said  Mr.  Brandling,  who  having 
stepped  back  a  moment,  returned  with  Mr.  Middle- 
ton's  friend  Phillips,  "  let  me  present  the  rector  of 
Langley,  your  nearest  neighbour,  who  is  most  impa- 
tient to  bid  you  welcome  ! " 

His   promotion   to  this  living,   which  had    onljf 


OLD  ENGLAND  FOR  EVER?  lo£ 

occurred  within  the  last  few  months,  had  been  kept 
secret  for  the  purpose  of  this  pleasant  surprise ;  it 
had  its  desired  effect,  and  it  is  hard  to  say  which  of 
the  hands  of  the  two  rectors  was  most  warmly  grasped 
by  Mr.  Middleton. 

As  this  little  company  were  seated  at  dinner  that 
evening,  Mr.  Middleton  thought  on  the  garlanded 
homes  of  Italy  and  Germany  on  such  occasions  of 
family  festival,  and  reminded  his  wife  and  daughter 
of  them.  "But,"  added  he,  "to  me,  with  these  glad 
bells  in  ray  ears,  and  these  bright  faces  round  me,  I 
think  there  is  no  welcome  like  an  English  one  !" 

"  Wagstaff,"  said  he  that  evening  to  him,  as  that 
worthy  individual  again  made  his  appearance,  "  to- 
morrow let  every  cottager  have  an  order  for  a  piece 
of  beef,  and  five  shillings  for  a  plum  pudding ;  let 
there  not  be  a  creature  without  substantial  means  for 
a  day's  holiday  and  rejoicing." 

^V''agstaff  said  he  would  see  that  it  was  done. 
Mrs.  Brandling  smiled  significantly  at  him,  and  then 
said  to  Mr.  Middleton,  "  I  am  glad  that  you  did  not 
think  of  giving  the  women  tea  ;  for  do  you  know  we 
are  going  to  invite  you  all  to  take  tea  with  us  at  the 
school,  where  all  the  children  are  to  be  our  guests. 
We  would  have  had  all  the  parents  too,  but  the 
school  would  not  hold  them." 

"  Then,"  said  Mrs.  Middleton,  "  I  invite  the 
parents;  and,  as  the  weather  is  so  sunny  and  fine, 
the  tables  shall  be  set  out  on  the  green  under  tha 
great  elm." 


160  OLD    ENGLAND    FOR    EVER  ! 

"  Delightful !"  said  Lucy  ;  and  she  and  her  young 
cousms  promised  themselves  much  pleasure  in  help- 
ing to  arrange  all.  Lucy  and  the  cousins  were  soon 
seen  talking  eagerly  together ;  and  whatever  she 
was  saying,  there  was  a  burst  of  delight,  and  "  Fa- 
mous !  famous  !  that  will  be  delightful !"  were  re- 
peated again  and  again. 

Seth  WagstafF  stopped  talking  a  long  time,  for 
he  had  a  deal  to  say ;  he  stopped  a  deal  longer 
than  Lucy  wished,  for  she  had  a  many  little  com- 
missions to  give  him  on  her  own  account,  and  to 
enlist  him  privately  as  her  assistant.  At  last,  how- 
ever, he  went. 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  glad  he  is  gone  ! "  said  Mrs.  Brand- 
ling, the  moment  he  was  out  of  the  room,  springing 
up  as  she  spoke,  and  giving  the  door-handle  a  little 
push,  as  if  to  make  sure  that  he  was  aciually  gone. 

"  Glad  !  why  ?"  exclaimed  Mr.  Middleton  ;  who, 
liking  Wagstaff  so  much,  felt  jealous  for  him. 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  glad !"  repeated  Mrs.  Brandling, 
with  a  countenance  of  amiable  exultation.  *"  I  do 
want  to  tell  you  what  Wagstaff  has  done." 

"  Done  ?"  asked  Mr.  Middleton. 

"  Yes,  done,"  said  she ;  "  but  do  you  tell  it, 
George,"  said  she,  addressing  her  husband  ;  "  you  can 
tell  it  best,  and  I  am  never  weary  of  hearmg  of  it." 

Mr.  Brandling  smiled  on  his  wife,  and  complied. 
"  T  was,  some  weeks  ago,"  said  he,  "  called  to  attend 
a  dying  man,  at  least  he  was  su]>posed  to  be  dying. 
It  wfis  a  man  that  I  had  but  seldom  seen,  and  that  only 


OLD    KNGr.AND    FOR    EVKn!  IGl 

when  1  liappened  to  be  in  that  part  of  the  parish 
•where  he  lives,  or  to  pass  the  ah-liouse-door  on  the 
common,  for  he  never  came  to  church ;  and  when  1 
say  that  he  had  the  worst  character  among  your 
tenantry  for  wild  habits  and  unprincipled  transac- 
tions, you,  Mr.  Middleton,  can,  I  am  sure,  name  liiin 
yourself." 

"  It  was  Ned  Hankey,"  replied  he.  "  Is  he  dead 
then?  A  dreadfully  wild  fellow  he  was,  but  a  very 
clever  fellow,  and  might  have  been  one  of  the  first 
and  richest  men  of  his  class,  had  he  been  a  better 
man.  In  his  youth  he  was  a  very  handsome  fellow, 
and  was  much  admired,  not  only  by  the  young 
women,  but  by  those  who  led  him  into  cock-fighting, 
horse-racing,  and  all  kinds  of  sporting  and  betting. 
Nothing  but  the  fact  of  his  family  having  been 
tenants  of  mine  for  many  generations,  an-l,  till  this 
unfortunate  fellow,  all  sober,  creditable  people,  kept 
him  on  his  farm  in  my  father's  time  or  mine.  So, 
then,  poor  Ned  Ilaiikey  has  finished  his  wild  career!*' 
added  he,  thoughtfully. 

"Yes,  he  certainly  has,"  returned  the  rector; 
"  but  you  shah  hear.  I  hastened  to  obey  the  sum- 
mons, for  I  knew  the  desperate  character  of  the  man, 
and  I  thought  one  moment  might  prevent  the  last 
chance  of  hope  or  comfort  to  one  who  must  have  such 
terrible  need  of  them.  It  was  early  morning  when 
I  rode  rapidly  into  Hankey's  yard.  I  know  not  when 
I  ever  saw  any  spot  which  gave  me  such  a  melan- 
choly idea  of  ruin,  utter  ruin,  and  stripped   decay. 


162  OLD    ENGLAND    FOR    EVER  ! 

The  house,  you  know,  is  a  tall,  dark,  red-lirick 
house,  of  a  very  old-fashioned  style,  and  to  which 
nothing  for  years  had  been  done,  because,  as  I  learned 
from  WagstafF,  the  man  owed  much  rent,  and  you 
would  be  glad  to  be  rid  of  him  altogether.  In  the 
yard  stood  a  green  and  noisome  pool,  but  there  was 
neither  pig  nor  poultr3%  Instead  of  good  wagons 
and  cai-ts,  there  were  only  heaps  of  old  wood,  wretched 
remains  of  former  carriages,  ploughs,  and  harrows. 
The  only  living  creatures  seemed  two  dogs,  a  huge 
mastiff  and  a  pointer,  chained  under  the  steps  leading 
up  to  the  door.  The  outbuildings  were  in  a  state  of 
decay,  and  the  gate,  through  which  I  passed,  oflF  the 
hooks,  and  standing  half  open. 

"  I  found  nobody,  spite  of  the  loud  barking  of  the 
dogs,  to  come  out  and  take  my  horse,  which  I  led 
into  a  stable  equally  desolate  with  the  rest  of  the 
premises.  When  I  came  out  again,  I  saw  some 
children  standing  staring  at  me  on  the  steps  before 
the  door ;  these  were  boys  and  girls  of  naturally  very 
handsome  forms  and  faces,  but  so  neglected,  dirty, 
and  wild,  that  I  regarded  them  with  wonder.  I 
asked  them  where  their  mother  was;  and  they  said, 
'  I'  the  parlour  wi'  feyther,  who  was  very  badly.'  The 
room  that  I  entered  was  what  the  country-people 
here  call  the  house-place  ;  that  is,  as  you,  my  friend, 
know,  though  your  relations  from  the  north  may 
not,  the  common  sitting-room  and  also  kitchen  of  tlie 
family.  Under  its  wide  chimney  lay  smouldering  in 
ashes  a  little  fire  of  sticks,  which  the  children  had 


OLD    KNGLANL)    FOR    EVEr!  Kk^ 

probably  gathered ;  and  the  room  itself,  with  its 
naked  shelves  and  worn  brick  floor,  was  desolate 
beyond  description. 

"  I  knocked  at  the  door  of  the  room,  which  I  knei* 
to  be  the  parlour  by  the  low  groans  which  proceeded 
thence,  and  by  a  female  voice,  as  if  weeping  and 
speaking  at  the  same  time,  in  low  and  distressed 
accents.  The  door  was  opened  by  a  tall  woman,  who, 
with  her  apron  held  up  before  her  face  to  hide  her 
tears,  though  she  could  not  suppress  her  sobs,  ad- 
mitted me  in  silence,  and  pointed  towards  the  bed.  On 
this  lay  the  sufferer.  He  was  lying  with  his  back  to- 
wards me ;  but  as  I  approached  him,  he  turned  his  head 
and  gazed  at  me  for  a  moment  with  a  face  such  as  I 
had  never  seen  in  my  life  before ;  it  was  that  of  a 
man  burned  and  wasted  down  by  fever  and  agony  of 
various  kinds  to  that  of  a  skeleton,  over  which  the 
skin  was  stretched  like  sallow  parchment.  The 
hollow  cheeks,  the  more  hollow  eyes,  and  the  thin  and 
parched  lips,  were  altogether  a  fearful  spectacle.  His 
dark  but  grizzled  hair  was  wild  and  rough,  and  his 
nose  stood  prominent  and  ghastly,  and  gave  a  look  of 
death  in  its  most  appalling  form  ;  but  the  eyes,  which 
he  turned  on  me  with  their  large  whites  sunk  in  their 
deep  sockets,  were  the  most  awful.  After  a  moment's 
anxious  and  haggard  look  on  me,  he  turned  his  head 
again,  with  a  deep  groan  and  restless  action  of  his 
skeleton  hands,  denoting  a  condition  <^  mental  and 
bodily  suffering  that  could  not  long  endure. 

'*  I  need  not  and  will  not  harrow  you  with  the  par- 


1<54  OLD    ENGLAN1>    FOR    EVER  { 

ticulars  of  what  passed  ;  of  the  entreaties  I  made  him 
to  tell  me  all  that  he  was  able  of  his  wishes  and  hia 
feelings,  in  which  I  was  joined  by  his  wife  on  her 
knees  by  the  bed,  who  wrung  her  hands  in  the  most 
heart-rending  distress,   and  implored  him  to  open  his 
mind,  and  to  listen  to  my  exhortations  and  prayers 
for  him.     It  was  not  without  a  long  and  dreadful 
struggle  with  himself  that  he  could  be  brought  to 
speak  to  me  on  the  very  subject  for  which  I  had  been 
sent,  during  a  paroxysm  of  terror  and  despair.     But 
it  is  enough  to  say,  that  partly  from  him  and  partly 
from  his  wife,  I  came  to  receive  the  revelation  of 
such  a  life  of  sin,  of  fearful  passions,  and  unhallowed 
courses,  as  I  trust  never  to  hear  again.     But  last  and 
most  oppressive  of  all   lay  on  him   his   conduct  to 
Wagstaff.     A\'agstaff,  it  appears,  had  often  and  seri- 
ously talked  to  him,  and  warned  him  of  the  ruin  he 
was  bringing  on  himself  and  family,  and  had  tried 
even  what  threats  of  dismissal  from  his  farm  would 
do.     These  had  sunk  deep  into  his  mind,  and  he  had 
brooded  over   schemes  of  vengeance.     His    circum- 
stances were  desperate,  and  he  was  deeply  indebted  to 
his  bankers,  who  were  sternly  demanding  payment  or 
threatening  an  arrest,  when  it  seems  Wagstaff,  who 
had  come  to  learn  from  a  safe  quarter  that  the  bankers 
themselves   were   on  the  eve  of  ruin,   sent    to   the 
tenants,  and  privately  warned  them,  in  order  that  if 
they  had  any  money  in  the  bank,  or  hsld  any  of  its 
notes,  they  might  save  themselves.     T.i  Hankey  he 
did  not  need  to  go,  because  he  knew  he  was  not  in  a 


OLD    ENGLAND    FOR    EVER  !  166 

condition  to  be  injured,  but,  as  he  suspected,  on  the 
contrary.  Hankey,  however,  soon  learned  this  from 
some  of  the  farmers,  and  that  Wagstaff  was  the 
authority.  An  opportunity  of  vengeance  now  rushed 
on  his  mind.  He  instantly  hastened  to  the  bank,  and 
communicated  this  proceeding  of  the  steward.  What 
took  place  in  consequence,  you,  Mr.  Middleton, 
know.  Hankey  hoped  that  this  information  would 
soften  ihe  bank  towards  him,  and  procure  a  delay  ; 
but  in  this  he  was  deceived.  Their  affairs  were  too 
desperate  ;  they  arrested  Hankey  for  their  money, 
who  being  not  only  a  man  of  fierce  passions  but  des- 
perate strength,  had  knocked  down  the  sheriiTs- 
officer  who  had  served  the  writ,  mounted  his  horse, 
and  rode  off.  He  had  hidden  for  months  in  various 
disguises,  and  among  various  of  his  comrades,  often, 
it  is  said,  coming  home  by  night  in  a  state  of  lawless 
desperation,  more  like  a  famished  plunderer  than  a 
husband  and  a  father.  An  execution  was,  in  the 
meantime,  brought  against  his  effects.  Wagstaff, 
who,  on  belialf  of  the  landlord,  could  claim  only  for 
one  year's  rent,  took  crops  on  the  ground  on  that 
account ;  and  everything  else,  furniture,  stock,  every- 
•thing,  to  the  wife's  bed  itself,  was  swept  away. 

"  The  fury  to  which  these  hard  proceedings  aroused 
this  impetuous  man  had  brought  on  a  violent  fever 
and  delirium.  In  this  state  he  had  been  brought  out 
of  his  hiding-place  by  his  comrades,  and  carried  at 
midnight  to  his  house  and  wretched  family.  The 
poor  wife,  who  is  still  a  very  fine  woman,  and  who  la 


166  OLD    ENGLAND    FOR    t:.VER? 

said  to  be  of  a  very  respectable  family  of  a  distant 
part  of  tbe  country,  wbo  had  married  him  in' oppo- 
sition to  her  friends,  had  thus  alone  to  watch  over 
him  in  this  fearful  state,  and  to  care,  as  far  as  care 
was  possible,  for  her  children.  A  situation  of  more 
poverty,  anxiety,  and  thorough  misery,  is  not  to  be 
conceived. 

"When  I  was  thus  called  in,"  continued  the 
rector,  "  it  was  when  the  delirium  had  left  him,  but 
the  terrors  of  conscience  had  taken  hold  of  him.  He 
had  had  no  doctor,  and  he  believed  himself  dying 
Of  all  things,  he  implored  the  pardon  of  Seth  Wag- 
stafF,  who  it  appears  had  often  sought  him  out  in  his 
hiding-place,  and  offered  him  help,  or  even  the 
promise  of  a  farm,  which  he  had  refused  with  angry 
violence.  I  assured  him  of  WagstafF's  ready  forgive- 
ness, and  rode  myself  for  him.  He  speedily  gal- 
loped there,  and  flinging  himself  on  his  knees  by 
the  repentant  sinners  bed,  said,  seizing  his  bony 
hand  in  both  his,  '  Forgiveness ! — Ay,  with  all  my 
heart,  Hankey,  and  ten  thousand  times!'" 

The  rector  here  was  too  much  affected  to  proceed, 
and  looking  round,  he  saw  that  all  his  auditors  were 
dissolved  in  tears.  When  he  had  again  calmed  him- 
self, he  continued : — 

"  I  have  heard  a  great  deal  of  women's  hearts,  but 
I  never  saw  a  woman  with  such  a  soft  heart  as  that 
great,  burly  Seth  Wagstaff.  He  remained  kneeling 
by  Hankey 's  bedside,  squeezing  his  withered  hand, 
and  looking  at  him,  and  crying  like  a  child.  Hankey 


OLD    ENGLAND    FOR    EVER  !  J  67 

himself  had  ceased  to  groan  so  bitterly,  but  held  fast 
by  Wagstaff,  as  if  his  touch  was  salvation,  and  Han- 
key's  wife  knelt  also,  weeping  and  gazing  at'  her 
husband,  as  if  she  saw  something  heavenly  in  his 
ghastly  countenance  ;  and  something  heavenly  there 
was,  for  even  then  his  scorched  and  hollow  eyes  had 
gushed  healing  tears,  which  rolled  in  huge  drops 
from  his  face  to  the  pillow. 

"'But  what  are  we  about  T  said  Wagstaff,  springing 
up,  'you  will  not  die,  Hankey — I  am  persuaded  you 
won't ;  we  must  have  help,  instant  help.' 

"'Oh  God  !'  exclaimed  the  wife,  clutching  Wagstaff 
by  the  coat,  as  if  by  her  eager  grasp  she  could  thus 
keep  her  husband  in  the  world  ;  *  Oh !  will  he  not 
die?  — will  he  not  die,  Mr.  Wagstaff?" 

'"I  think  not;— I  verily  believe  not,'  said  he, 
looking  with  great  compassion  on  the  poor,  half- 
frantic,  half-believing  woman ;  and  then  added,  as 
he  gazed  round  the  apartment  which,  beside  the  bed 
and  a  box  or  two,  was  destitute  of  any  article  of  fur- 
niture, and  smelt  strongly  of  vinegar,  with  which  and 
water  the  poor  woman  had  been  keeping  cool  her 
husband's  forehead.  '  But  what  a  scene  is  this  !  Mer- 
ciful Heaven  !  there  must  be  help.' 

"  He  hurried  out,  and  in  half-an-hour  the  doctor, 
who  had  been  sent  ofFby  him,  arrived.  He  pronounced 
that  there  was  a  good  chance  of  life,  if  the  room  was 
kept  quite  still,  and  the  directions  which  he  gave 
vere  carefully  followed.     He  immediately  hastened 

"ay  again,  to  prepare  and  send  his  medicines,  and 


168  OLD    ENGLAND    FOR   EVER.! 

the  poor  wife  knelt  down  ag^in  by  her  husband,  bent 
over  him,  and  kissed  him  passionately  on  the  fore- 
head. The  patient  lifted  his  feeble  and  shrivelled 
arm,  folded  it  about  her  neck,  and  pressing  her 
bowed  face  to  his  o-vnti,  held  it  for  some  seconds  in  that 
position,  "\rhether  it  was  an  act  merely  of  affection, 
or  of  that  mingled  with  a  silent  prayer,  I  cannot  say, 
but  I  could  perceive  that  his  breast  heaved  almost 
convulsively,  and  he  uttered  deep-drawn  sighs.  His 
wife,  meantime,  was  lost  in  fresh  sobs  and  tears ;  they 
were,  however,  those  of  an  overpo  weringhappiness.  She 
saw  that  a  blessed  change  had  come  over  her  husband ; 
she  felt  that  she  was  again  beloved  by  him ;  there 
was  a  hope  of  life,  and  a  better  life  !  Let  those 
imagine  her  feelings  who  can ;  for  my  part,  I  sate  in 
silence,  and  in  that  time  learned  a  great  lesson  in  the 
holy  mystery  of  the  human  heart. 

"  But  as  I  was  about  to  take  my  leave  for  a  while, 
I  heard  sudden  and  eager  feet  running  up  the  steps, 
and  then  as  eager  outcries,  '  Oh,  bread  !  bread !  the 
gentleman  has  brought  us  bread!' 

'^  I  ran  out  to  moderate  these  joyful  but  exciting 
sounds,  lest  they  should  reach  and  agitate  the  invalid. 
The  children  who  had  thus  exulted,  had  again 
disappeared  ;  and  looking  out  into  the  yard,  I  saw 
WagstafF  hurrying  along  it,  loaded  with  a  great 
basket,  and  the  children  following  him  like  so  many 
hungry  fowls.  "^Vith  his  quick  sense  and  prudence 
he  had  foreseen  the  very  thing  which'I  had  feared,  and 
now  was  conducting  the  children  to  the  barn,  where 


OLD  ENGLAND  FOR  EVER!  IGO 

he  speedily  seated  each  on  an  upturned  scuttle  oi 
corn-measure,  and  forbade  any  one  to  move  from  the 
spot  till  he  gave  them  leave.  He  then  dealt  out  to 
each  of  them  a  good  piece  of  bread  and  a  can  of  milk. 
Whilst  they  devoured  these  with  silent  voracity,  he 
stood  lecturing  them  with  a  solemnity  that  was  worthy 
of  a  schoolmaster.  The  whole  scene  would  have  had 
something  extremely  ludicrous  in  it  for  one  who  did 
not  know  the  occasion  of  it.  WagstafF,  not  a  slim 
youth,  as  I  have  heard  you  say  he  came  hither,  but  a 
broad  and  somewhat  heavy  man,  in  his  suit  of  roomy 
blackand  wide-brimmed  hat,  pointing  and  gesticulating 
with  his  foretinger,  most  solemnly,  to  first  one  and 
then  another  of  those  wild  children,  who  thus  seated, 
and  thus  greedily  eating,  kept  at  the  same  time  casting 
the  most  astonished  looks  at  their  monitor. 

"  *  He  is  badly — very  badly  ! '  I  heard  him  say, 
as  I  drew  near ;  '  his  life  hangs  on  the  turn  of  an 
aspen  leaf.  If  you  make  the  least  noise,  it  may  all 
be  over  with  him,  and  then  who  will  have  been  the 
death  of  him  ?  You  !  I  tell  you — ^you  !  So,  you 
must  promise  me  that,  as  soon  as  you  have  eaten  and 
drunken  what  I  have  given  you,  you  will  all  run 
do^vn  to  the  bottom  of  the  common,  and  play  and  leap 
about  there  as  much  as  you  will,  but  never  come  on 
this  side  of  the  little  foot-bridge  till  I  or  your  mother 
send  for  you  !  You  mind,  eh?  You  promise,  all  of 
you,  eh  ? ' 

"  '  Yes,  sir  !  yes,  sir  ! '  vociferated  all  their  voices 
at  once  •  and  half  longing  for  another  hunch  of  bread, 
15 


170  OLD     KNGLAND    FOR    EVER  ! 

and  half  glad  to  get  away  from  the  awful  man,  thej 
started  off,  and  soon  were  seen  scampering  down  the 
common  like  a  little  flock  of  wild  colts,  but  ever  and 
anon  looking  behind  to  make  sure  that  the  man  was 
not  coming  after  them. 

*•  '  There  !  *  said  Wagstaff  to  me  ;  '  there's  quiet 
secured  in  the  house,  I  think,  for  an  hour  at  least ; 
and  when  I  go  away,  I  will  see  if  old  Mary  Kater  can 
take  charge  of  these  youngsters  for  a  week  or  two.* 

"  ^V^ith  this  he  took  up  his  basket  again  and  hastened 
towards  the  house,  no  doubt  having  also  something 
in  it  in  store  for  both  the  wife  and  the  invalid.  In 
the  meantime,  his  wife  had  been  busy  getting  out  of 
the  gig  bundles  of  linen,  and  such  things,  of  which  the 
house  had  only  too  much  need. 

"  To  bring  my  relation  to  a  close,  Seth  set  himself 
down  as  a  sort  of  director,  and  his  wife  as  housekeeper. 
They  soon  had  a  nurse  there;  and  in  a  few  days 
the  doctor  pronounced  the  patient  out  of  imme* 
diate  danger,  but  to  be  kept  quiet  and  judiciously 
treated." 

"So,  then,  Hankey  is  not  dead?"  said  Mr  Mid- 
dleton. 

"Dead!  no!"  replied  the  rector.  "  His  wicked 
career  is  ended,  not  his  life.  I  believe  he  was  never  so 
much  a  living  man  as  he  is  now,  though  still  somewhat 
weak  and  pale.  But  the  whole  man  is  changed.  He 
has  shown  a  particular  liking  to  listen  to  Wagstaff  ; 
and  he,  on  his  part,  has  shown  an  indefatigable  zeal 
in  reading  to  and  talking  to  him,  and  giving  him  a 


OLD    ENGLAND    FOR    EVEIl!  I7l 

world  of  religious  information,  of  which  he  was 
lamentably  deficient,  but  which  he  has  received  with 
a  quickness,  and  yet  not  without  weighing  and  object- 
ing with  an  acuteness,  that  shows  a  mind  of  great 
native  power. 

"  The  whole  place  is  changed,  botli  within  and 
without.  His  wife  is  like  a  new  creature,  and  truly 
is  a  most  comely  and  clever  woman ;  she  seems 
always  to  have  possessed  the  best  of  sentiments,  and 
has  suffered  enough  to  make  her  now  cling  to  them 
more  fondly  than  ever.  She  often  looks  on  her  hus- 
band, in  his  altered  mood,  with  tears  of  grateful  joy 
in  her  eyes.  Her  children  are  sent  to  school,  and 
her  house  again  has  an  air  of  thorough  comfort  and 
good  management." 

"  But  whence  have  come  the  means  for  all  this  ?" 
asked  Mr.  Middleton.  *'  How  is  it  that  the  bankers 
still  leave  him  at  large?"  ^ 

"  The  bankers  are  bankrupt,"  replied  the  rector ; 
"  and  were  their  assignees  disposed  to  be  severe  on 
Hankey,  as  they  are  not,  he  would  soon  have  been 
put  out  of  their  power;  for,  to  tell  you  the  most 
wonderful  part  of  the  story,  "Wagstaff  has  discharged 
his  debts,  and  restocked  his  farm  for  him." 

"  That  is  noble  !  that  is  AVagstaff's  chcf-d'ceuvre  !" 
exclaimed  Mr.  Middleton:  a  sentiment  which  every 
one  warmly  re-echoed. 

"  The  only  thing,  however,  which  surprises  mo 
most,"  said  Mr.  Brandling,  smiling  archly,  "  is,  that 
Wagstaff  has  done  all  this  in  the  landlord's  name,  yet 


172  OLD  ENGLAND  FOR  EVEr! 

the  landlord  knows  nothing  about  it,  though  it  mast 
have  involved  a  very  heavy  sum." 

"  Oh,  does  he  say  so  T  cried  Mr.  jMiddleton  eagerly, 
*'  then  it  is  so,  depend  upon  it.  He  has  my  permis- 
sion to  do  what  he  likes  almost  in  the  affairs  of  the 
tenants.     I  am  glad  that  he  has  done  this  ! " 

The  parties  here  all  separated  for  the  night  in  the 
happiest  spirits  for  their  glad  meeting,  and  for  having 
heard  of  this  noble  conduct  on  the  part  of  Wagstaif. 

Early  in  the  morning,  Mr.  Middleton  sent  over  for 
his  steward,  and  expressed  himself  impatient  to  look 
into  the  statement  of  affairs.  He  glanced  over  the 
general  balance-sheet ;  he  turned  to  the  account  of 
Hankey's  farm,  but  nowhere  could  he  find  one  shil- 
ling placed  to  the  account  of  the  matters  related  the 
night  before  by  the  rector. 

"  ^Thy,  Wagstaflf,  how  is  this  ?  "  asked  he  hastily . 
"  I  see  no  account  of  the  money  paid  on  account  of 
Hankey.'"' 

"  For  Hankey  1 "  returned  he,  with  a  sudden 
flush  on  his  cheek,  "  what  of  him  ?  He  has  found  a 
friend — and  his  rent  is  all  paid  up !  " 

"  Yes,  but  how  ?  By  whom,  I  want  to  know  % 
I  understand  from  Mr.  Brandling,  that  the  poor  fellow 
has  been  helped  out  of  his  difficulties  in  my  name  ?" 

"  That  is  too  bad  of  Mr.  Brandling  now!"  said 
WagstafF,  somewhat  impatiently — "so  as  I  begged  him 
to  keep  my  confidence  on  that  score.  But  if  I  must 
speak,  /  have  set  Hankey  straight  again.  I  did  it  to 
please  myself,  and  had  never  a  thought  of  making 
you  pay  for  it." 


OLD  ENGLAND  FOR  EVEr!  173 

"Honest  AVagstaff!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Middleton, 
taking  his  hand;  "you  are  fairly  caught  this  time — you 
have  given  me  a  share  of  the  credit  of  this  good 
action,  and  a  share  I  am  determined  to  have  in  it. 
The  discharging  of  his  debts  I  leave  to  you,  but  the 
restocking  of  his  farm  shall  be  mine ! " 


That  day  all  work  was  suspended  in  the  village  of 
Middleton.  The  bells  rang  as  for  a  festival.  The 
Squire,  Mr.  Bro^^•nlo\ve,  and  Seth  A\^agstaff,  rode  over 
the  home-farm,  and  through  the  plantation  to  Lang- 
ley,  to  call  on  Mr.  Phillips,  whom  they  found  amid 
his  charming  family,  and  in  his  fine  old  vicarage,  one 
of  the  happiest  men  in  England.  The  ladies  and 
children  in  the  meantime  had  gone  through  the 
gardens,  conservatories  and  hot -houses,  where  all  was 
in  the  nicest  order. 

In  every  cottage  was  a  family  feast.  It  was  a  day 
never  to  be  forgotten. 

At  four  o'clock  the  children  were  assembled  in  the 
school-house  for  tea,  where,  when  the  ladies  and 
gentlemen  entered,  they  saw  that  Lucy  had  been  at 
work  with  her  cousins.  With  the  aid  of  the  gardener 
and  Ephraim  Brown,  the  schoolmaster,  the  school- 
room was  hung  with  festoons  of  flowei-s  and  ever- 
greens, and  amid  a  large  wreath  at  the  head  of  the 
room  were  displayed,  in  flowers  of  the  richest  hues, 
the  words  Welcome  Home  Aoai.v. 

When  they  had  witnessed  the  children  all  seated 


174  OLD    ENGLAND    FOR    EVER  ! 

at  their  tea,  they  went  out  to  receive  the  gro%\Ti  pcoplo 
on  the  Green.  There  they  found  that  the  Continental 
experience  of  Lucy  had  been  equally  introduced. 
The  tables  were  tastefully  ornamented  with  flowers, 
a6d  with  blossoming  shrubs  in  pots  brought  from  the 
conservatory.  From  the  lower  boughs  of  the  tree, 
(and  the  ordering  of  these  had  been  Lucy's  commission 
to  Wagstaff  the  night  before)  hung  many  little  lamps, 
which  in  the  thicilc  shade  of  the  foliage  already  cast  a 
soft  and  glow-worm  lustre  among  the  dark  leaves, 
while  the  bole  of  th*e  old  tree  itself  was  covered  with 
the  finest  moss  and  wreathed  with  flowers.  Nothing 
so  pretty  had  been  seen  in  all  Middleton  before. 

The  rector  and  Wagstaff"  had  already  arranged  and 
seated  the  people.  The  tables  were  placed  in  a  great 
circle  around  the  tree,  \a  ith  spaces  between  for  the 
waiters  to  pass  to  and  frc«. 

The  Middletons  and  iheir  relations,  with  the  rector 
and  his  lady,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Phillips,  and  Seth  and 
Nancy  Wagstaff",  dispersed  themselves  among  the 
company,  one  or  more  sitting  at  the  head  ^  of  each 
table ;  and  when  all  had  pretty  v.-ell  enjoyed  them- 
selves, the  children  all  marched  out  of  the  school, 
with  Ephraim  Brown  at  their  head,  and  surroundiDg 
the  tables  in  a  still  wider  circle,  burst  forth  with  a 
song  of  welcome  which  had  been  written  for  the 
occasion  by  Ephraim  Brown,  who  was,  in  fact,  one 
of  those  genuine  poets  of  the  working  class  which 
have  sprung  up  so  richly  on  the  English  soil,  and 
never  so  successi'ully  as  in  the  present  day.     'I'ho 


OLD    ENGLAND    FOR    EVKR  !  ]  75 

effect  was  dcliglitful.  All  parties  appeared  equally 
charmed,  and  the  poor  people  could  hardly  tell  which 
to  admire  most,  the  abilities  of  the  schoolmaster  or  of 
their  own  children. 

Wonderful  was  the  clatter  of  tongues  and  the 
merry  gossip  which  was  heard  under  the  old  elm, 
whose  lamps  grew  brighter  and  brighter,  till  the  ladies 
beginning  to  dread  the  chill  evening  air,  arose,  and 
bade  every  one  a  good  night.  All  arose  at  this  ;  and 
*'  Good  night  !  God  bless  you !  "  sounded  on  all  sides 
as  the  squire  and  his  friends  walked  away  towards 
the  Hall.  Those  of  the  old  men  and  women  who 
had  a  salutary  fear  of  rheumatism,  moved  off  also, 
but  others  still  clustered  round  the  tables  in  eager  talk, 
and  to  admire  the  lamps  and  the  flowers,  and  edifying 
one  another  with  wondering  at  the  wonderful  things 
which  '^  the  family"  must  have  seen  in  foreign  parts 
All  declared  that  it  had  been  a  finer  feast  than  the 
Wakes  itself ;  and  it  might  be  safely  said,  that  for  one 
day,  at  least,  there  was  not  a  sad  heart  in  Middleton. 

But  Mr.  Middleton  determined  to  diffuse  the  feel- 
ing of  satisfaction  still  fartnor.  The  next  week  he 
gave  a  great  dinner  to  all  his  tenantry  at  the  Hall.  It 
was  a  jovial  scene  of  hearty  goodfellowship.  There 
was  not  one  tenant  missing,  except  Ned  Hankey,  who 
was  not  allowed  by  the  doctor  to  attend,  but  great 
interest  was  expressed  on  his  account ;  and  in  the 
midst  of  this,  Mr.  Middleton  rose,  and  said,  "  I  pro- 
pose the  health  of  the  finest  fellow  in  the  parish — ■ 
need  I  nan^e  him  ?  " 


170  OLD    E.NOLAXD    FOR    EVER  ! 

There  was  at  once  a  deafening  thunder  of  applause, 
and  "  Seth  Wagstaff !  SethWagstaflF!"  resounded  on 
all  sides. 

Mr.  Middleton  felt  that  the  man  was  understood 
and  estimated  as  he  deserved,  and  he  said  no  more. 
When  it  came  to  him  to  give  the  last  toast,  he  said : 
"  I  have  travelled  mucli  and  seen  much,  but  through- 
out Europe  I  liave  seen  nothing  like  the  wealth,  in- 
telligence, and  skill  of  an  English  tenantry,  nor  any 
situation  of  life  where  more  genuine  blessing  and 
happiness  may  be  diffused  than  by  an  English  land- 
lord.    Old  England  for  Ever!" 

"SVith  a  Hear  !  and  an  Hurrah  !  sent  from  proud  and 
happy  hearts,  that  shook  the  rery  roof  of  the  old 
Hall  of  Middleton,  the  company  responded  to  thk 
■entiment,  and  then  hurried  forth  to  return  home. 


OCSS  ilBRARY 


,,  ^„.^.^„cp»j  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FAC1UT<_^ 


B     000  007  887     3 


-^»;J.^.'  •y^y.-g 


